


not for ourselves alone are we born

by merrywil



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-11-22 03:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrywil/pseuds/merrywil
Summary: It’s just another day on Earth, and at the New York Sanctum.  That is, until a new enemy suddenly appears, and threatens to subjugate the entire world to an ancient and bloodthirsty power.  Now Stephen, Wong, and their apprentice-in-residence Illyana must figure out how to avert the oncoming peril, even if finding the solution itself means going on a dangerous quest!  And poor Christine is just along for the ride.





	1. Prologue/Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: Wow. Firstly, this was really fun to write, even if it took 3 months because work has been crazy. I hope even one person enjoys reading it. Stephen gets beat up a little (is anyone surprised? nope? good), but he probably saves the day in the end ;-) Wong, Illyana, and Christine help. I really enjoyed reading the What if? Magik issue. Stephen, Wong, and Illyana as their own dysfunctional little family (Wong’s facepalm!) are adorable. Forgive me, I definitely don't speak Russian.

Prologue

New York City, in the early morning hours before most of its populace came awake, was an entirely different world. The old adage about it being a city that never slept still held true. Food vendors were unhitching their stands from beat-up pickups and rusty SUVs. The most diligent of business people hurried along the sidewalks, coffee cups clenched in their hands and satchels slung over their shoulders, dress shoes and high heels striking crisply against the pavement.

But in the trees along the edge of the greenspace, birds greeted the summer morning with cheerful song. Mist rose off the river in plumes that captured the sun’s light midair before it could reflect off the water. Instead of the constant cacophony of taxi horns and trolley wheels and rumbling motors that filled the rest of the day and much of the night, there was a hush broken by the occasional passing car.

The unearthly stillness of a new day in the Big Apple was never more pronounced for Christine Palmer than after an overnight shift at the hospital. Overnights always left her with a floating feeling that seemed more dreamlike than anything else. To go to work when everyone else was heading home, or heading out for an evening on the town, was jarring enough. But it was even more so to step out the doors at the “end” of her day, only to find the first rays of dawn creeping over a slumbering metropolis. 

She had plans for little more than heading home, showering, and falling into bed. Tonight was her day off, and this Tuesday morning carried all the relief of most people’s weekend. But since it was her weekend, she had made plans, such as they were. One brief stop before home and bed. Turning off the street, she followed the concrete of a narrow path that cut across the park, towards the water’s edge.

The object of her plans was sitting on a park bench overlooking the mist-covered river. It was their typical meeting place for these early morning rendezvouses. Stephen Strange looked as if he had expected her to arrive at exactly this moment, despite her tardiness. Early or late, she never seemed to catch her former colleague by surprise.

Stephen looked tired, but pleased to see her. For a moment, as she continued to walk towards him, Christine considered the other doctor. Although she had been the one to remain following the Decimation, he was the one who had aged, and yet at the same time carried an air of agelessness that she could not quite articulate. 

The silver at his temples had spread since their days as coworkers, and more fine lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. His cheeks looked more gaunt than at their last meeting. But at the same time, Christine had never seen him look as settled as he did these past few years, with an aura of quiet confidence and even wisdom that the Stephen Strange of Metro General had never commanded.

“Sorry I’m late. There was a domestic violence case that came in just as I was leaving, and I got held up.” She gratefully snagged her coffee from the carrier at Stephen’s side; both of his hands were already wrapped around the cup of tea that he was nursing.

“But no shop talk allowed.” She grinned at their mutually agreed upon rule. “How are you? We missed last week.”

Stephen smiled at her, although his gaze was still fixed on the park and the street beyond it. “Good. As for last week, well, all’s well that ends well. Wong sends his greetings. He’s been busy wrangling the apprentice from Kamar-Taj that I told you about.”

Christine hummed thoughtfully. “Illyana, right? Has she been settling in okay?”

“Well enough. I’m pretty sure I was never that...emotional when I was her age. She’s passably studious, but Wong says she’s having trouble finding her center. She reminds me of an overeager puppy. Or a first year medical student, same difference.”

Christine recalled the starstruck interns that had tagged along to Stephen’s surgeries, and his awkward bemusement regarding what to do with them. Usually, he’d settled for either ignoring their presence, or quizzing them about procedures at a level somewhat beyond their understanding. Some things never changed.

“Anyways, Wong’s discovered some sort of recipe from a new cooking show he’s watching, and he’d like you to join us as guinea pig this weekend.”

Christine snorted gently into her coffee. “You know I’d be Wong’s culinary guinea pig any day of the week. If he ever quits sorcerer-ing, he should open a restaurant here in New York. Just let me know when you were thinking of. I, ah, might have plans.”

“Oh?” That got an eyebrow quirk, and a glance.

“Mmm. It’s been a busy two weeks. I met someone. At a bar, of all things. Janice from Onco dragged me there after work.”

“You have been busy. Spill. What’s he like? Do I need to invest in a shovel yet?”

He protested the wack to his arm dramatically as she fished in her bag for her phone. “He’s sweet. Quiet. But comfortable in his own skin. He’s a vet at the city shelter.” Holding out the phone, she watched as Stephen considered the handsome, dark-skinned man, who was dressed in pale green scrubs and gently cradling a kitten as he stood between two rows of cages.

“Very nice. You have a type, I see. Tall, dark, and competent.”

“I hardly think one constitutes a type.” Christine grinned wickedly at his pretended affront.

“Ouch.”

Inhaling the fragrant steam wafting from her cup, Christine let the conversation lapse into contented silence for a moment. A bicycle flashed by, the bell on its handlebars tinkling merrily. A woman in shorts and a T-shirt threw a ball across the grass, and her Golden Retriever bounded happily to fetch it.

“And how about you? Anyone that I need to threaten with my shovel?”

Stephen’s hand toyed with the string of his tea bag. His fingers had regained a significant degree of mobility relative to their original state, although she noted that they too were more slender than at their last meeting. She would have to talk to Wong this weekend.

His smile was more wistful than sad. “No. I have my work. Our job isn’t exactly conducive to relationships. But I am happy.”

He looked up as her hand came to settle over his, stilling his restless fingers. “Well, then Wong and I will just have to pick up the slack.” With a careful squeeze, she released his hand, moving her own back to cradle her coffee. “One of these days, you’ll have to hold a ‘Take your friend to work’ Day, and show me exactly what it is you do.”

It had been a lighthearted joke, so she was surprised at Stephen’s sudden seriousness. A shadow seemed to pass over his face, so relaxed a moment before, and his eyes darkened.

“I’m afraid that day may come sooner than you think. There’s a feeling in my bones, like the ache that comes before a storm.” He shook his head, like a dog trying to rid its coat of water. For a moment, his fingers played blindly over his sternum, as if questing for something hung around his neck. “Sorry, I’m not sure where that came from.” 

“That’s alright.” Christine smiled reassuringly at her friend. A car horn blared, and the birds continued their blitheful tune from within the rustling leaves of the trees. The summer sun rose higher, burning away the mist. But as their conversation turned to other things, Christine couldn’t shake the feeling--as her nana would have put it--that someone had just walked over her grave.

\--

Chapter 1

Illyana Rasputin was bored. Very, very bored. The only sounds in the library were the thump of the heavy tomes she was moving from cart to shelf, and the faintest murmurs of late afternoon traffic that drifted in from the windows above. The air smelled of dust and ancient paper, and golden sunlight fell in thick bars across the carpeted floors.

At least it was cool inside. The alternative would have been tending the herbs on the Sanctum’s roof garden, but it was still too warm outside to be conducive to watering. So Master Wong had set her the job of restocking the library’s towering shelves.

She couldn’t resent him for the assignment, as much as she disliked the task itself. The masters generally did not ascribe to the philosophy of mundane labor being a right of passage for initiates. The reality was that this duty was necessary to the smooth running of the Sanctum. If Wong had been present, he would have been performing it right alongside her.

But he had been needed in Kamar-Taj. And Master Strange was travelling in another dimension, due back sometime this evening. Which left Illyana in her current role of keeping the Sanctum’s cogs turning smoothly. She only hoped that Master Wong returned this evening as well, and ideally before dinnertime. Master Strange was quite frankly an atrocious cook.

Illyana wrestled a particularly stubborn volume into a space high above the library’s floor. The strobe of the siren, its ear-piercing whistle seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, nearly made her lose her grip on the ladder on which she perched.

“Слыш?!” It took her a moment, but she finally recognized the sound as the Sanctum’s emergency alert, or more specifically its alarm system. Vague recollections of a lecture delivered in a warm study room to barely awake initiates flashed through her mind. Alert. Intruders in the Sanctum. 

And she was alone. The odds of that were not particularly high. To a certain degree, it was a measure of Wong’s trust in her progress and familiarity with the Sanctum. And the arcane stronghold could certainly protect itself. But it was rare for a mere apprentice to be left without support or supervision, and only a temporary situation born out of necessity.

Illyana hesitated. Would the alarm sound in Kamar-Taj as well? She thought so, but the details of the lecture were hard to recall. She could remain here, and try to avoid detection. She could portal to Kamar-Taj, and go for help. That would be the safest course. But what damage might be done to the Sanctum in the time that it was left entirely abandoned?

Taking a deep breath, she gripped the silver cross that hung around her neck with one hand, and the heavy, cool weight of her sling ring with the other. She had promised herself that she would never run away again. And maybe she could prove herself worthy to those who had given her a second chance.

\--

Illyana’s footfalls struck against the deep carpet with barely a sound, featherlight as a cat’s. There were some skills that living as a child on the streets, however briefly, imparted better than any other teacher. The alarm still continued its eerie wail, but as yet Illyana had encountered no evidence of reinforcements from Kamar-Taj.

Peering cautiously around the banister into the Sanctum’s foyer, Illyana’s heart stuttered nearly to a stop. Any hope that she might have had of this being a simple malfunction, a false alarm, vanished. 

At the foot of the stairs, levitating cross-legged in the air, was a man. Well, maybe he once had been a man. The skin was drawn tight over his skull, like the skin of a gourd that had dried and shrunken, covering the bones in leathery wrinkles. A great, black tower of a cap perched atop his head, and moth-eaten robes draped the rest of his body like burial clothes. They fluttered in a nonexistent breeze, and Illyana swore she could smell the scent of smoke and decay.

The man’s eyes were closed. So Illyana jumped when he spoke, his voice deep and grating. “I see you there. Come out, child.”

Illyana’s heart was pounding in her chest. She knew, somehow, that the time for retreat had now passed. Drawing herself up to her full height, she stepped with a confidence that she did not feel to the top of the stairs, hands clenched in tight fists at her sides.

“This is the New York Sanctum. If you have not been invited here, I suggest you leave.” She was proud that her voice wavered only slightly.

The man’s eyes flew open, and they were as cold and piercing as daggers when they met hers. Illyana froze, pinned like an insect beneath that icy gaze. “Foolish child. Of course, I was not invited. The Sanctum itself knows that. Not that it has been able to warn anyone. Now, run and hide, and perhaps I will spare you. I am here for a master, not some babe in arms.”

Illyana grit her teeth. The feeling of helplessness in the face of a power far greater than her own was not an unfamiliar feeling, but one that coiled queasily in her gut. And filled her with an impotent rage that burned through her fear, and any rational thought.

Her jaw clenched, and she shifted into battle stance, raising a burning blade in one hand and a shield in the other. The intruder gazed on with apparent amusement, not bothering to stand. “I will not run. And if you will not leave, then I will make you!”

“Impudent child. I will teach you a lesson, in your master’s absence. And perhaps, leave your corpse as a message for him to find!”

\--

With a cry, Illyana raced towards the man, feet navigating the staircase with the swift surefootedness of youth. She had barely made it halfway down the flight of stairs when a wall of air stopped her in her tracks. It was like trying to walk forwards against the full might of a hurricane. The wind whipped her hair, and drove grit into her eyes.

Then she heard the sound of a horn, piercing and strident enough to be heard over the wind and the Sanctum’s alarm. It was answered with what sounded like the bellowing of a great beast, and the cries of men and ferocious roars. Squinting against the gusts that held her in place, Illyana’s heart sank to see the ghostly forms moving forwards from the Sanctum’s walls. Fur-clad warriors bearing spears, and at their sides great lions with iron studded collars and curving fangs. Behind them loomed the wooly bulk of a giant elephant-like creature.

The closest ghost-warrior raised his spear, and charged towards her across the air with a blood-curdling battle cry. Illyana hefted her sword, and fought to keep from closing her eyes in despair. She knew that she stood no chance against these spirits.

“No! Begone, wretched creatures!” The flash of blue and red that interposed itself between Illyana and her almost certain death appeared so suddenly that it took her a moment to understand what was happening. There was a soft grunt as the spear struck home, and then a pained cry from her assailant. With a flash of eldritch magic, the wind swept away from Illyana and across the Sanctum’s foyer, brushing the apparitions before it like so many dried leaves.

The blue and red flickered and vanished, and Illyana realized it had been nothing more than a projection. Turning her head to the top of the staircase, her eyes sought out the source of the image. Stephen stood above her, arms extended in a warding gesture, eyes blazing with fury.

“Master Strange!”

“Illyana. Are you alright?” His gaze never left the intruder who still hovered beneath them. At her nod, he continued. “Good. Then get behind me.”

“But Master…”

“Now.” His tone was as firm as steel, and she knew that if they dealt with this, there would be repercussions for her actions. Chagrined, she made her way up the stairs, although she kept her head high and blinked tears resolutely from her eyes.

Once she had passed him, Stephen’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly, although the rest of his body remained vigilant and on guard. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my Sanctum?”

The man below seemed unphased by the loss of his ghost army, and a sneering grin twisted his withered lips. “My name is Kulan Gath, and I am here to give you notice, Master of this Sanctum. Prepare yourself and your order to meet your end. The Earth has grown weak, and bereft of her old defenders. The Lord of Chaos is coming. Unless your order bows to the servitude that will be this planet’s lot, we will destroy you. You are forewarned!”

With a resounding clap, the man vanished, gone as if he had never been. With a hand gesture from Stephen, the sirens of the Sanctum’s alarm fell silent. The ensuing hush felt almost cloying to Illyana after the constant sound of the past half hour.

\--

Turning on his heel, Stephen spun to face her, the Cloak fluttering agitatedly at his back. Illyana wondered inanely if the relic was reflecting its chosen’s emotional state, or if it was entirely capable of its own reaction to events.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She nodded.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Good. Then would you care to explain to me what in the Vishanti’s name you were doing, confronting that thing instead of going to Kamar-Taj for help?” His voice was level, but she could feel the anger and fear lurking just beneath its surface.

“Master Strange, I’m sorry. I thought that the alarm would go off in Kamar-Taj, and I didn’t want to leave the Sanctum undefended. I didn’t think…”

“No, you didn’t.” He interrupted, and she squirmed as his unwavering gaze met and held her own. “Illyana, I respect that you wanted to help. But one of the most important lessons a sorcerer must learn is not just how to fight, but when to fight. Sometimes, there is no other way. But charging into battle without a plan, or a true understanding of the situation, is a good way to get yourself and others killed. Do you understand?”

She hung her head, blinking against the renewed threat of tears. “I understand.”

“Good.” He rested a faintly tremoring hand gently on her shoulder. “Now I need you to go find Wong for me.”

“Master Strange?” Illyana’s head shot up in confusion, at both the non-sequitur and the faintly breathy quality of the older sorcerer’s voice. Stephen’s face was pale, and perspiration beaded beneath his dark hair. With a grimace, he reached a hand down to his side. When he pulled it away, it was red with blood.

“ой блять.”

“Yeah. Wong’s not gonna be happy.”

\--

Wong had indeed been unhappy. He had been enjoying a perfectly lovely afternoon of organizing a new collection of Mesopotamian tablets. Unpacking the artifacts required a great deal of attention and care, and he found the work relaxing in its roteness. 

That relaxation had gone right out the proverbial window when a frantic Illyana had come racing into the Narthex, babbling something about his being needed back at the Sanctum. His first sight upon spinning open a portal into the building’s foyer had been a sheepish and decidedly pale Stephen Strange, who was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase and attempting to bleed out all over the hardwood floor. 

Wong had taken one look at the other sorcerer, hefted him by the elbow, and shoved him through another portal into the healing hall at Kamar-Taj. Which was where all three of the current residents of the New York Sanctum--Wong, Stephen, and Illyana--were still gathered.

Illyana, Wong noted, seemed particularly cowed. She stood behind him, head bowed and sneakered toe tracing invisible patterns on the tile floor. He suspected that there was a story there, but he planned to ask Stephen for further details once the girl had left. 

“There. That should do nicely, although I recommend you avoid anything too strenuous for the next day or so, and get some rest.” Master Grannus nodded in satisfaction at her handiwork. About to walk away, she paused. “Although really, Stephen, could you try not to get stabbed quite as often? It doesn’t set the best example for the novices.”

“I will endeavor to do my best. Thank you.” Appeased, Master Grannus tilted her head in farewell, and briskly moved down the ward.

Stephen shuddered. “I’d like to unleash her for one day on Metro General. I think the efficiency would skyrocket.” Raising the hem of his sleeping shirt slightly, he prodded tentatively at the white bandage that covered the now-mostly healed wound in his side.

Wong grabbed his forearm with a growl. “Do not undo all of her hard work.” Stephen’s eyeroll made Wong wonder how such an intelligent and magically gifted person could at the same time be such an idiot. “Do you require Illyana’s presence any longer?”

Stephen’s face quickly sobered, and he propped himself up a little further against his pillows with a soft hiss. “Illyana?” The apprentice took a step forwards, at attention but head still bowed. Stephen looked as if he was about to say something more, then sighed. “You can head back to the Sanctum, if Wong has no further need of you.”

She glanced at Wong, who shook his head in the negative. “Good evening, masters.” Her voice was dull and monotone, and she spun open a portal to the New York Sanctum without further fanfare. As the last sparks of the portal faded, Wong pinned his friend with a questioning stare.

“Care to tell me what happened this afternoon?”

“That kid got incredibly lucky, is what happened.” 

Stephen settled back, eyes trained to the ceiling. The dark circles beneath his eyes stood out in stark contrast to the pallor of his face. Magically replacing lost blood was so difficult as to not usually be done, and healing drew on both the energy of the healer and the patient. Wong wished that they could have delayed this conversation, but that was a luxury they could not afford. He drew a chair up to sit at Stephen’s bedside, as the other man continued.

“I got back early from  S'ahra-Sharn . Good thing I did, because I walked in to our intrepid apprentice confronting an intruder to the Sanctum.”

Wong wasn’t sure what his own face looked like right now, but he imagined it would have looked similar if someone had hit him upside the head with a wooden plank. “An intruder? But the alarms here did not sound!”

Stephen moved as if to shrug, then thought better of it. “Impossible, right? Apparently not. And he was a sorcerer, too, by the looks of it. One of the Stone Age ghosts he’d summoned was about to shishkebab Illyana when I showed up. Hence this.” He waved a hand vaguely over his side.

“I have a name for you, by the way, which he was very cavalier about sharing. Kulan Gath. Ring any bells?”

Wong hummed thoughtfully, and from his seat spun open a tiny portal at about eye level. Reaching through the aperture, he retrieved a small, hide-bound book, its cover studded with tiny metal bolts. With the utmost care, he turned the magically preserved parchment of its ancient pages. He did not look up at Stephen’s indignant gasp.

“Shame on you, Wong! How can you hold your students to one standard, and follow another?”

“Quiet. Or I will tell Illyana about the time you took on Kaecilius and his zealots by yourself, instead of going for help. And only managed not to die thanks to the Cloak and your friend the doctor.”

“Touche. I like to think I’m older and wiser now. Any information about our friend Kulan?”

Wong turned the fragile volume, angling it so that Stephen could see its pages. “Yes. As I recalled, he was a sorcerer who lived around twelve thousand years ago, in the region of the Black Sea.”

Stephen snorted incredulously. “He looked pretty good for someone pushing twelve thousand. Although he could definitely do with a face lift.”

Wong stared at his friend, nonplussed. “If you would let me finish? He was slain by his wife, another sorcerer. However, legend has it that he had achieved a certain degree of immortality, due to binding of his soul to a certain amulet. Of greater interest, is the couple’s ultimate goal, at which they fortunately failed. This was to obtain the power of one of the most formidable demonic entities to ever exist.”

Here Wong paused, turning the ancient tome to once again face himself. His next words were solemn. “This creature is not of our dimension, and all that we know suggests he must never enter it again. For thousands of years, before the dawn of recorded history, he subjugated the human race, and washed in the blood of their sacrifices. He is one of the Old Ones, the Many Angled. He is known as Shuma-Gorath, the…”

“Lord of Chaos.” Stephen finished, mouth twisted in a grimace. At Wong’s obvious startle, Stephen smiled ruefully. “Just a lucky guess. Gath may have mentioned that title this afternoon.”

“Is there anything else you may have neglected to mention about your conversation?” Wong’s tone could have cut steel.

“Not really.” Stephen shook his head. “It was pretty short and sweet. ‘Hi, my name is Kulan Gath, nice to meet you, surrender or die.’ The usual spiel.”

“Stephen…”

“I know.” Gone were the lighthearted quips, and Wong watched as the Master of the New York Sanctum looked at him with a grave resolve in his eyes. “We need more information before we can act. If something big is coming, you and I both know the best place to find out about it. Up for a trip tomorrow?”

“Always.”

“Good.” Stephen’s jaw-cracking yawn caught them both by surprise, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. Wong sighed in fond exasperation as the Cloak, which had been hovering in the corner as unobtrusively as a sentient garment could hover, took this as its cue to nestle around its chosen like a great red blanket.

“Get some rest, Stephen. Tomorrow, we’ll go looking for our answers.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stephen makes a HG2G reference. Wong recounts his misspent youth. There is a Significant Cameo. Christine regrets her curiosity. The Cloak was just trying to be helpful.

The true name of this place was impossible for the human tongue to pronounce. Most of those who frequented it called it the Bar with No Doors. Stephen called it the Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Wong liked to roll his eyes and sigh despairingly when he did this.

Ironically enough, the Bar with No Doors had a door. Two of them, in fact. On this pleasant evening, both doors and all of the windows were open to let in the fragrant night air, rich with the scent of blossoms whose name was also unpronounceable. The setting suns lit the deep purple sky with bands of red and gold, and thin white clouds scudded lazily beneath the first stars.

Fandazar Foo was a refuge for magic users from across dimensions. It was a place of study, of contemplation, of healing. But even magic users were only living beings, after all. And so tucked away in a quiet corner off the main thoroughfare, hidden from the gardens and temples and libraries, stood the Bar with No Doors.

Typically, their arrival would have provoked no more than a few nods of greeting, a raised glass here or there. But today was different. When Stephen and Wong entered, a number of patrons had already found their way to the establishment, with plans to partake of their evening meal and perhaps a libation or two. The Bar fell silent at their appearance. As one, eyes turned to stare, and then furtively glanced everywhere but at them. A quiet susurrus of muttered conversation sprang back up out of the sudden lull. But Stephen had the feeling that these conversations shared a common new topic.

Wong plowed forwards, unphased as always by the effect of their entrance. Stephen followed at his heels, feeling the Cloak tighten around his shoulders at the electric air of anticipation that filled the room. Like it or not, Stephen had a feeling they would find answers in this place. Taking a seat at the Bar’s counter, Wong raised two fingers silently, then slid a palmful of currency onto the well-polished surface. Stephen took a seat on the stool next to him.

He felt more than saw the mild commotion at his side, as another body took its place at the counter. “Stephen Strange. Wong. It has been long since our last meeting.”

“Szandor. I hope you’ve been well. I trust you’ve suffered no further...infestations of the lupine variety.” The barkeep placed a tumbler filled with softly glowing amber liquid in front of Wong, and another in front of Stephen.

Szandor laughed, deep and fond. “No, that we have not. You did me a fair good turn on that occasion.” Here his voice turned somber, and his hands toyed with his mostly empty glass. “Which is why I’m speaking with you now, although it’s not good news that I have to share.”

“We know about Kulan Gath, Szandor. He paid us a delightful visit yesterday. Threatened to impale my apprentice while I was out on business.” Unconsciously, Stephen’s hand strayed to the healed wound on his side, nothing more than a slight tenderness now to mark where the ghostly spear had pierced.

The other sorcerer’s face was a study in confusion. “If you know, then why are you here? Unless it is simply that you seek to bid farewell to those of us you have known, aye.”

“Actually, we’ve come to see if there is anyone who is familiar with Gath, knows how best to fight him. Or this Shuma-Gorath that he once sought to master.”

At that name, Szandor visibly flinched. There came another laugh, but this was light and at the same time bitter. Stephen swivelled his head to stare at the young woman (not that she was a human female, Stephen knew) perched jauntily on the stool to Wong’s other side. Her hair was a riot of rich crimson curls, and her long black nails tapped a staccato rhythm against the counter’s oiled wood.

“Zelatrix.” She canted her head in acknowledgement, a droll smile barely curving her lips. 

“Stephen. I’ll make this easy for you, because I like you. Don’t worry, Wong, I like you, too.” She patted Wong’s hand, and in other circumstances Stephen might have laughed at his companion’s unimpressed stoicism. “It’s a shame, really. We’ll miss you both. But that’s the way it goes.”

Zelatrix’s nails clicked against Wong’s tumbler, as she slipped it from between his fingers and took a long drink. Replacing it on the bar, she shook her head. “There’s no way to fight Gath, my friends. He wears the mantle of Shuma-Gorath, one of the Old Ones. No one’s quite certain whether he finally wrestled Shuma-Gorath to his will, or if he’s merely a puppet. I tend to think the latter.”

For a moment, Zelatrix’s cat-like orbs darkened with sorrow. “Worlds have tried to stand in their way, but none has survived. You can surrender to the inevitable, or be mown down without mercy before Gath and Shuma-Gorath establish their reign of terror and abject servitude. And your Earth does not even have a Sorcerer Supreme to defend it. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing you can do.”

Stephen felt a rising tide of anger and, if he was honest with himself, of fear. “And I take it that no one else will stand against him, should we choose to fight?”

Zelatrix’s smile was wry, although her eyes were warm with understanding. “Could you truly ask that of any of us? I know you too well, Strange. To ask another world to fight Gath is to invite the wrath and power of Shuma-Gorath down on the heads of untold more innocents. None dare draw his attention to themselves, but only draw a breath of relief that he has passed their world by.”

“For now.” Stephen understood and could empathize; after all, the Masters of the Mystic Arts had a world to care for as well. “‘ First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a socialist.’”

At her confused glance, he shook his head. “Just something they said about a similar scenario, that happened once on my world. What happens when all the other dimensions have fallen, and there is no one left to help you fight?”

From Stephen’s other side, Szandor sighed. “Aye. I understand, but what would you have us do, Stephen? Even together, we do not know if we can withstand the might of an Old One. And if we fail, our worlds pay the price.”

Stephen smiled, and reached out one gently tremoring hand to clasp Szandor’s robe-clad shoulder. “It’s alright. And don’t mourn us yet, my friend. Our world may not be the most advanced or the strongest, but we won’t give up without a struggle.”

Szandor’s laughter was deep and affectionate. “Aye, you are stubborn, I’ll give you that. Perhaps that will be enough. At least I can tell you of Gath’s history. Mayhap that will be of some help?”

At Stephen’s other side, Wong nodded. “Our resources about his time on earth are sparse, and more myth than truth. Any information would be appreciated.”

“Mythical is hardly a poor way to describe Kulan Gath.” Szandor drained his glass, shaking his head contemplatively. His gnarled hands clenched around the now empty vessel. “Gath himself was a sorcerer, a great one, but still just a man. He and his wife, the witch queen Vammatar, were originally enemies. But they put aside their conflict to seek the same goal: mastery of the Lord of Chaos and his infinite power.”

“No history of Kulan Gath is complete without Shuma-Gorath, but as for Shuma-Gorath itself, that is a story hidden even further in the mists of pre-history. We do not know what dimension originally birthed the Old Ones. Only that Shuma-Gorath found its way to Earth, when humanity was in its infancy. It was a time of terror, when your ancestors offered human sacrifices to appease what was to them a capricious and bloodthirsty god.”

The patrons around them had fallen silent, Stephen realized. Szandor’s words held them spellbound, as sure as any eldritch casting. From outside came the faintest calls of creatures awakening to begin their nocturnal hunting, and the hearthfire cast wavering shadows against the Bar’s varnished wooden walls.

“Then there came a light in humanity’s darkness. In the middle of one of your great bodies of water, there arose a civilization, built on both science and magic, which far surpassed any that had been seen before in the Earth’s history. And the inhabitants of this island state fought back against Shuma-Gorath. The cost was great, but eventually they found a way to bind the Lord of Chaos.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Stephen’s tone was incredulous, and his words fell harshly into the silence that followed Szandor’s story. “Are you talking about Atlantis? That’s just a legend. A flood myth, like Noah’s Ark from the Bible, or the Epic of Gilgamesh.”

His reply, when it came, was not from Szandor. A wheezing chuckle, as thin and reedy as the gasp of air from a bellows, drifted from the darkened corner next to the fireplace. Stephen squinted suspiciously at the bundle of fabric that hunched in the rickety chair, as it shifted to reveal the wizened visage of an old man. 

The man was bald, his eyes rheumy with age and smiling gums revealing not a few missing teeth. In his lap rested a ginger cat whose eyes sparked green in the dim light of the room. Stephen couldn’t recall having seen that particular feline around the Bar before. The man either, but then Fandazar Foo was at the crossroads of untold dimensions.

“Ah, so much to learn still. Atlantis was real, young sorcerer. In some ways, it marked a golden age that your people have yet to achieve again, although perhaps you have replicated it in other ways. But never have magic and technology married so seamlessly.”

The old man’s eyes found Stephen’s, and suddenly he felt as though he could not breath, could only fall endlessly into their abyss. “There is a way to find what you seek, if you are worthy. Their sacrifice was beyond compare. Yet the Atlanteans discovered a way not to defeat Shuma-Gorath, but to wrest him of his power to harm. You can do the same, if you follow their path.”

Then the cat leaped from the stranger’s lap with a hiss, and fled into the room’s shadows. Stephen shook his head, the spell of the man’s gaze broken. “Alright. Assuming that an advanced oceanic civilization did exist tens of thousands of years ago, how do we find any evidence of what they did to defeat Shuma-Gorath? Historians have been searching for the origins of the Atlantis myth for decades, to no avail. No one even knows where Atlantis might have stood.”

“Actually, Stephen, I do.” Stephen nearly fell off his barstool, he turned to face his companion so quickly.

“What?!” Wong’s look was sheepish, which Stephen found infinitely out of place for the usually stoic and self-assured man.

“Well, I don’t know quite where it stood. But I think I might be able to find it. It’s...a long story.”

Stephen rubbed his temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes. He had a suspicion they were in for a long night, but the relentless sensation of sand running through an hourglass was a constant tickle at the back of his awareness. Sighing, he nodded his gratitude at Szandor and Zelatrix, who had now finished Wong’s drink and appropriated Stephen’s. Placing a hand under Wong’s elbow, he gave a gentle tug.

“In that case, let’s get going. I think we got what we came for.” 

As Wong followed him towards the front door of the Bar with No Doors, Stephen glanced over his shoulder towards the fireplace. The chair in which the old man had sat was empty, rocking gently in the flames’ soft glow. 

\--

Outside of the Sanctum, thunder crashed. Rain drove against the building’s stalwart walls with a vengeance. Summer thunderstorms in New York could be an impressive display of Mother Nature’s power, and this one was no exception.

The library was dimly lit against the unusual midafternoon gloom. Stephen sat at the head of a long table, one hand gently massaging the other. He’d known the storm was coming the moment they’d set foot back in the Sanctum, the dull throbbing in the cobbled together bones roaring into a hard-to-ignore ache. 

He’d gone to find Illyana, while Wong went in search of whatever it was he planned to show them. Hopefully an answer to their current predicament, if the Multiverse had any sense of mercy. Unfortunately, Stephen still wasn’t convinced that it thought of them as more than momentary specks, if it thought of them at all.

A thin, hidebound volume clattered softly against the aged wood of the table, drawing him from his thoughts. Wong had helpfully opened the book to a page that Stephen assumed to be of some significance. More eye-catching was object that Wong placed gently beside the open pages. It was a sleek three-footed design, about the size of a dinner plate. The metallic sheen of its domed surface, adorned with symbols of a form that Stephen did not recognize, glinted softly in the lamplight.

Stephen arched an eyebrow. “What is that?”

Wong tapped a finger against the book, and Stephen tore his gaze away from the curious object to consider the dense text and archaic figures that filled its pages. “I believe it is a key. More specifically, a key to the door described in this book.”

The other sorcerer lowered himself into a chair with a heavy sigh. “Let me start at the beginning. When I was a student, I had two close friends. You know that one, Cora, had the misfortune of falling at Mordo’s hands some time ago. The other was a young man named Aarav.”

Wong paused, eyes focused on some distant memory. “We were known for being a bit too zealous and foolhardy in our search for knowledge. Cora discovered this text, and became fascinated by what she believed to be references to ancient Atlantis. Imagine my surprise when one day, helping one of my predecessors catalogue a collection of artifacts, I found in my hands a relic that I recognized from Cora’s book.”

Wong flipped the page gently, revealing a rendering of the same strange tripod that sat before them. “The text suggests that this...device can be activated to gain entrance to a backdoor of sorts, leading to one of the civilization’s outposts. However, we were never able to garner any response from it, poke and prod it though we might. Having no success, we decided to try investigating the coordinates in the text without the key.”

Stephen realized that he was leaning forwards slightly in rapt attention, and that Illyana was doing the same. Her eyes were fixed on Wong’s face. At least it was a step up from the unnerving and deferential quiet that she had shown since the incident with Kulan Gath.

Wong continued, a wry smile twisting his lips slightly. “As it turns out, that was a very badly planned idea. We opened a portal, and let about half a ton of ocean water come pouring into the novices’ sleeping quarters. Fortunately, no one was injured, but the Ancient One delivered quite a dressing down. And she confiscated both the book and this artifact.”

“So how did you get them back?” Illyana asked, her voice curious.

“Ah. That is an excellent question, with a very interesting answer. I did not happen upon them, when I inherited this position. The Ancient One returned them to me, not long after I gained my mastery. She told me that I would have need of them someday, but that she hoped I had learned my lesson about thinking thrice before acting.”

Stephen thought that Wong’s story might end there, but the librarian was not quite finished. “I did think, but my curiosity remained--or perhaps the need to complete the quest that Cora, Aarav, and I had started. After some calculations that a novice would not have had the knowledge to perform, I was able to form a portal to a site not far from these coordinates. And importantly, on dry land.”

With a wave of Wong’s hand, an image sprang to life in the air above the table. It was a beautiful view, though desolate. Verdant ground cover fell away at the edge of a rocky cliff, overlooking a broad stretch of ocean. Birds soared overhead, but no other living creatures could be seen across the small island’s expanse. Before them, a yawning sinkhole opened, the crash of the waves far below sending occasional plumes of spray jetting upwards from its mouth.

With another wave of Wong’s hand, the image wavered, and then vanished. Stephen leaned back in his seat, gritting his teeth against a spike of pain from his hands. The library grew momentarily bright as lightning flashed across the sky outside.

“I take it you had no luck in activating the so-called key?”

“None.” Wong shook his head ruefully. “I consulted other texts and scholars, experimented with exposing it to magic and even other dimensions, all to no avail. Eventually, I assumed it was either damaged, or not the artifact referenced in the text after all.

“We can keep looking, but Wong...if you couldn’t find a way, it sounds like this might be a dead end, after all.” 

Stephen struggled to keep despair from clouding his words. He appreciated that Wong was as eager to find a solution to their current predicament as he was, and he didn’t want to alarm Illyana. Stephen watched as his friend’s face fell, barely discernible except to those who could read him well. He sighed.

“But let’s give it another try.” Keeping up morale was not in his job description. Or at least, he used to think so.

“Hey, guys! Oh, Illyana, I didn’t see you there!”

Stephen whirled in his chair, biting back a hiss as his hands jostled against the hard wood. Christine Palmer stood in the doorway, hair and clothes dripping. She was smiling despite her bedraggled appearance, and gently waving a bottle that she lofted in her left hand.

“Sorry to interrupt. Your, um, Cloak let me in. I think it took pity on me. Got caught in the storm just as I was getting off the subway. I thought I could beat it here. Fortunately, the cider will be just fine. Non-alcoholic, don’t worry.”

Stephen would have executed a perfect (as Mister Parker liked to refer to them) facepalm, except he generally wasn’t a masochist. In the whirlwind of the past few days, he had utterly neglected to reschedule their dinner plans with Christine. Hence her current appearance at the Sanctum, unfortunately in the midst of their brainstorming session for dealing with a world-ending threat. 

But before he could move, or speak a word, the room was lit with another burst of light. This time, however, it did not emanate from outside the library’s windows. Like flower petals unfurling, light blossomed upwards from the artifact, its symbols now glowing a brilliant aquamarine. The effervescent bands extended towards the ceiling, streamers of rich green and yellow, blue and red.

The air was charged with magic. For a moment, they were frozen in a silent tableau, and Stephen caught a glimpse of the others’ awestruck faces. Then the four bands of light arched downwards, each heading unerringly towards its target.

Stephen felt like he was being bathed in magic, as it cascaded around him in sheets of unburning blue fire. Through the veil of colored light, he could see his companions similarly entrapped. It was not precisely unpleasant. But certainly overwhelming, like being a conduit exposed to slightly too powerful a flow. Squinting through the encompassing blue light, he saw Illyana grimace, her youthful features twisting in discomfort. Wong seemed alright, but Christine staggered against the doorframe, unable to escape the sparkling yellow beam that surrounded her.

Stephen wasn’t sure if this was dangerous, but he had to end it before they found out. Setting his jaw resolutely, against both the fiery pain in his hands and the power coursing around and through him, he concentrated on a spell that should nullify the device’s magic. Essentially, it created a magical vacuum within its circumference. Hopefully, if the artifact could not sense them, it would again fall dormant.

With baited breath, he twisted his hands into the final sigil. The glowing symbols flowing over the object’s domed surface sparked once, twice, then fell dark. With a sigh, Stephen let his hands fall to his sides. He could still feel the residual electricity of the device’s magic tingling against his skin.

“ Слава Богу .” Illyana dropped into a chair was a huff, her hands running up and down her arms as if to ward off a chill.

Stephen agreed with the sentiment. He felt the Cloak settle around his shoulders, a reassuring weight. The muted lights of the library’s wall sconces glinted innocently off the dull metallic sheen of the artifact’s dome. Stephen probed the spell, finding it securely in place.

Then one glance at the door had him moving quickly to Christine’s side. Wong had made it there moments before him, and had already guided her to sit in one of the nearby chairs. The other doctor’s expression was dazed, her eyes fixed on the artifact quietly resting on the table. With an effort, she dragged her gaze away, meeting first Wong’s and then Stephen’s.

“What the hell just happened?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wong angsts. Stephen angsts. Christine makes a Wizard of Oz reference. Our protagonists journey to the center of the earth, and find trouble in paradise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long chapter (for me, haha)! I've always wanted to write a questing story, so Stephen and company get to fulfill that wish.

“Stephen! Wait!”

Wong hurried along the open corridor, late afternoon sunlight gilding the red stones of the cloister. Through the arched windows drifted in the smells and sounds of the market below, born up to the compound by the warm summer breeze. The thwack of staves against each other echoed from the nearby courtyard, where Kamar-Taj’s newest initiates honed their skills.

_ Damn the bloody idiot and his ridiculously long legs. _

“Stephen!”

With a growl, the other man spun to face Wong, hands fisted at his sides. The Cloak flared slightly at its chosen’s back, mirroring the sorcerer’s dark mood. Wong stopped short, feeling his own hands come to rest on his hips. For a moment, they faced each other, neither inclined to back away.

Stephen was the first to avert his gaze, hand coming up to rub tiredly over his face before falling in defeat to his side. “Wong. I can’t involve her in this. She isn’t one of us, she never signed up for any of this, and she doesn’t have any idea of the risks involved. Even Illyana is better prepared.”

Wong sighed. He had spent an hour in meditation to come to terms with the choice they faced, but a small corner of his soul still hated what he was asking. Of Christine, to be certain, but also of Stephen. He knew Christine was a dear friend, and one of the few links the other sorcerer still retained to his old life. To draw her into their world, and the dangers that it entailed, was to destroy that small remnant of normalcy.

“Stephen. If there was any other way, you know I would not ask this. But you also know the magnitude of the threat that we face. We have had sorcerers the world over convene at Kamar-Taj to see if some other combination of people can activate the device. But to no avail.”

Gently, Wong reached out a hand, laying it against Stephen’s forearm. The Cloak bristled at his movement, then quieted. Just as gently, a corner of the red fabric reached up to wrap itself around Wong’s forearm as well. Stephen’s gaze slowly rose to meet his friend’s, and Wong’s heart clenched at the fear and sorrow in his eyes.

“I know.” Stephen’s voice was low, and Wong felt the unending depth of heartache in those two words. 

Then the other sorcerer seemed to steel himself, countenance hardening with resolve. “But there is no other way, at least that we can find in the short time we have left. All of our fates, hers included, are sealed if we cannot find a way to stop Kulan Gath and Shuma Gorath.”

Stephen’s hand came up to grasp Wong’s forearm as well, his grip weak and tremoring but purposeful. “I will ask her, Wong. I will explain, and I will ask. If she says no, then we must find another way, or not. But if we compel her to help us, we are no better than those we seek to ward off.”

Wong nodded. “I understand. Better to fall as free people, then to stand as either oppressors or oppressed. Go now, and ask. If she agrees, we meet in the Sanctum’s library without further delay.”

Stephen nodded decisively, and turned briskly on his heel. He spun open a portal to what Wong recognized as a respectable Manhattan highrise. The Cloak waved a jaunty farewell, as its chosen stepped through the fiery circle. Wong offered the smallest of smiles at its antics. Then, head bowed in contemplation, he continued down the cloister, oblivious to the beauty of the summer afternoon that surrounded him.

\--

“Are you sure about this?”

Christine turned her head. For once, Stephen was at eye-height, leaning forward on his forearms against the high back of one of the library’s armchairs. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were creased in concern, and his shoulders were hunched with tension.

She gave an undignified snort. But if there was one thing she had learned after two decades as an ER physician, it was that *acting* as if the situation was no big deal was the best way to feel that way, too. Fake it til you make it.

“Well, let’s see. I just found out that one of my best friends, who happens to practice actual magic for a living, has some weird artifact that really likes me. As a result of which, I need to travel to what may be an ancient, magical, underwater city in order to prevent the entire world from being enslaved by a demon from another dimension. The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m not sure about any of this.”

She grinned rakishly at the other doctor, but her smile fell when she saw his brow furrow in rising disquiet.

“Christine, if you’d rather stay here, we can find another way…”

She waved a hand in the air, interrupting Stephen before he could continue. “No, you can’t. At least that’s what you said, and I believe you. This is your best shot, and you may not have any others. I’m not going to lie and say I’m not nervous as hell, but I’m not going to back out now.”

Christine turned towards the fiery sparks that had begun to fall to the library’s carpeted floor, almost missing Stephen’s quiet rejoiner as she did so. “But what if I can’t keep you safe?”

Her grin was back as she bumped her shoulder against Stephen’s, both of them watching as Wong and Illyana stepped through the portal. “I trust that you’ll do your best. Now come on, let’s do this thing.”

\--

Wind whipped the ocean into rows of white-capped waves. Above them, a handful of nondescript, grey-brown seabirds voiced their disgruntlement at the intruders to their tiny isle. The breeze was raw and damp, this close to the ocean, and left a briny aftertaste at the back of one’s mouth. Storm clouds massed on the horizon.

Illyana ran her hands up and down her arms, rubbing the fabric of her robes against her skin to dispel the chill. Next to her, Master Strange’s friend (Christine, she had introduced herself with a warm smile) had shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her bluejeans, shoulders curled against the wind. Illyana eyed the other woman’s practical ponytail with envy, as her own hair blew in an unruly tangle across her eyes.

Masters Strange and Wong had moved to the sinkhole, carefully staying back from the water-slick groundcover at its edge. From a satchel over one shoulder, Wong removed the artifact, and gently placed it amidst the green and brown grasses that clung stubbornly to the sandy soil. Stephen waved a hand in a come-hither motion, his face drawn into a grave frown.

Illyana shared a brief look with Christine, who shrugged and then grinned, stepping away to stand at one corner of a square surrounding the device. Illyana shuffled to her own corner, and then looked at Stephen. 

“Ready?”

Illyana and Christine nodded. Wong only stared. Stephen seemed to accept that as agreement nonetheless. Closing his eyes, he let his hands fall to his sides. There was a brief sparking in the air around the artifact, as Stephen allowed the magic containing it to fall away.

Then the light was reaching out once again: red and blue, green and yellow-gold. It bathed each of the four people surrounding it in a fiery warmth that was at once welcoming and unbearable in its intensity. Illyana grit her teeth against the overwhelming flood of eldritch energy. 

And then, as they had hoped, something different happened. The beams of coloured light continued to hold each of them captive, but from the device burst forth a final beam, this time of radiant white. For a moment it reached straight towards the darkening sky, and then it bent to arc into the sinkhole beside them. 

There was a great roar, like the voice of the sea itself. Illyana marvelled at the millions of tiny water droplets that sprayed from the cavernous opening, each a tiny prism that refracted the light into a miniature rainbow. The water fell to the ground, drenching the grass around them. Then all was quiet, save for the crash of the waves below. The coloured light receded into the object, as suddenly as it had appeared.

Illyana released a deep breath, which she hadn’t realized she had been holding. To her right, Christine uttered a quiet “oh!” and staggered slightly. Wong caught her by the elbow, and Illyana saw the worried glance that Stephen shot towards the two of them.

“Stephen.” Wong’s voice seemed to redirect the other sorcerer’s attention, and the Sanctum master nodded. Briskly but cautiously, he moved to the sinkhole, and peered into its depths. 

“Ah. Alright, everyone. Time for a little spelunking.”

As Illyana edged closer, the stairs came into view. Hewn from the rock wall of the sinkhole itself, they spiralled around its edge, descending into inky darkness. The ocean’s spray no longer blossomed forth from the gaping opening in the earth, and the roar of the waves was only a muted thrum far within its depths.

Illyana felt a cold sweat spring to life along her skin, making her palms slip clammily where they tugged against the hem of her tunic. She took an involuntary stride backwards, even as she watched Wong conjure a light and take the first step onto the subterranean staircase, Christine directly behind him.

“Illyana?” She nearly jumped at Stephen’s softly spoken query. In her fear, she had not realized that he’d moved to stand at her side.

She cleared her throat, which had gone dry. “Enclosed spaces. Not good memories.”

Stephen’s eyes were sad, and soft with understanding. She felt a burning shame fountain within her chest, and she turned her head, eyes downcast.

“Hey.” She’d noticed that the older sorcerer was not much one for physical contact. Rarely with his equals, and slightly more often with Wong. So she nearly jumped again when she felt the touch of his always shaking hand against her elbow.

She looked up again, meeting his gaze. “Illyana, there is no shame in fear, or even in wanting not to do this. And I don’t ask that you do it to impress or please me, or Wong. We are not your teachers today. Today we have a task to do. I wish more than anything that you or Christine did not need to be a part of this, but the Multiverse rarely grants us what we want. We may not succeed, but we can’t afford not to try.”

And then he stopped speaking, and waited (respectfully, it seemed to Illyana, as if he truly was speaking to a colleague instead of a student) for her reply. As if they had all the time in the world, and the sand was not slipping inexorably through the hourglass of the Earth’s short remaining stretch of freedom. 

Taking a deep breath, she willed the memories of her old life into a box as dark as the one she had once been locked in. Then she squared her shoulders, and nodded her resolve. Stephen’s smile was small, but genuine.

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

\--

The gloomy afternoon sunlight rapidly receded above them, until Wong and Stephen’s conjured balefires were the only lights that pierced the inky darkness. Water dripped off the bluish-black rock that surrounded them, and the air was as still as a tomb. The absence of light and the monotony of their climb seemed to create a surreal atmosphere of timelessness. Soon, it was hard to tell for how long they had been descending the seemingly unchanging staircase.

Until suddenly, there was a light below them where before there had been none. The pale cerulean glow grew steadily, soft and soothing. Ripples passed across it, like sunlight reflecting on water.

Which, Stephen realized with a start, was actually what they were seeing. Without warning, the rock wall in front of them fell away, the staircase winding to an end in a pool of shallow, seagreen water. The sandy white bottom was littered with small rocks, and the scales of tiny fish sparkled as they darted through the pool.

“о боже.” Illyana’s reverent whisper drew his attention to the source of the grotto’s light.

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” Christine’s tone was as awestruck as Illyana’s, and a glance at Wong revealed that even he had an eyebrow raised in surprise. For Wong, that was the equivalent of outright astonishment.

Before them stretched what could only be described as a tropical paradise. Sunlight played on the white sand of a beach that gently sloped down to meet crystalline blue water. The chatter of small creatures and the buzz of insects filled the warm air. Fruit-laden trees stretched away before them, and flowering bushes lined a sandy path that wound into the wood.

“So, when legends speak of Atlantis sinking beneath the waves?” Stephen trailed off, casting a questioning glance at Wong.

The other master nodded. “Apparently, at least this outpost was hidden within a magical construct beneath the surface of the ocean.”

“Uh, Stephen?” Christine’s voice interrupted their musings. “Please tell me that is not what I think it is.” 

Stephen considered for a moment. “I would happily do so, as long as you don’t want me to tell you that it is a small, therapod dinosaur.” 

The tiny reptile, no larger than the average house cat, considered them with bright beadlike eyes before leaping into the air. Its feathers flashed tan and white in the sun as it scurried away, the dragonfly it had snagged secured firmly in its small jaws.

Christine’s laugh bordered on hysterical, but she waved his look of concern away. “Why not? As long as we don’t run into any of its big brothers.”

“No guarantees, although I have a feeling we won’t. The magic of this place...it feels tame, domesticated. Like someone’s private garden. Cross your fingers that the rest of our journey is the same, although we can’t count on that. Wong?”

The librarian stepped forwards. Reaching again into his satchel, he withdrew the artifact. “The records are far more vague from this point forwards, although they suggest that a path will be made clear to those who seek it.”

As if in response to Wong’s words, the sigils decorating the device sparked to life. But instead of the familiar and uniform aquamarine of their earlier encounter, only those glyphs facing the path before them were lit, and this time with a rich ruby glow.

“I’m assuming it wants us to head that way. Alright, stick together everyone. Don’t touch anything, don’t wander off, and above all pay attention.” Stephen nodded to Wong, who took his place at the head of their small group.

“I’d say we’re off to see the wizard,” he heard Christine whisper to Illyana as they passed. “But we’ve already got our wizards with us.”

Which, Stephen considered as he followed his charges, left what exactly for them to find at the end of this quest?

\--

Their trek was pleasant enough, at first. Stephen’s perception of the beach and surrounding forrest as a cultivated paradise seemed to be correct. Birds with riotously coloured feathers serenaded their passage along the path’s smoothly packed sand. No fallen trees or errant vines tripped their feet or blocked their route, although occasionally small feathered dinosaurs like the one they had seen at the grotto skittered into the underbrush at their approach. To their left, through the trees, they could see glimpses of pristine beach and brilliant blue water.

The trail inclined gently, so much so that Stephen at first did not notice their gradual ascent. The trees around them grew denser, and the calls around them sparser but more shrill when they came. Without warning, they came to the top of a low ridge. Behind them, they could see a far off sliver of the inlet from which they had entered the jungle.

Below them, the passageway slanted just as gently downwards. Wong’s artifact continued to point their way, and it was the glow of the red glyphs that illuminated the first wisps of mist drifting across their path. The sand beneath their feet seemed to have grown damper as they descended, and there was a humidity to the air that had not been present before. Pools of standing water began to appear amongst the trees to either side of the trail.

“Master Strange?” Illyana’s soft voice broke what Stephen realized had become an enveloping stillness, broken only by the faint drip of water from the canopy above. “I don’t hear any animals anymore.”

Over her head, Stephen shared a brief glance of concern with Wong, before the other master turned studiously back to the device he cradled carefully in one hand. “I know. Just keep going. Stay alert.”

The human brain, Stephen cogitated, was a remarkable thing. It integrated input from multiple sources into an understandable whole. But it also lied, and it knew more than it let on. During saccadic movements, or in the middle of its retinal blind spot, the eye could not see. But the brain created the illusion that it could. Subconsciously, it also picked up on cues that one could not verbalize, but that created the perception of a tingling sixth sense.

Right now, Stephen’s sixth sense was blaring like a tornado siren. Instinctively, his hands curled into readiness, prepared to summon his shields into life.  _ Something _ was stalking them.

When it happened, it still caught them by surprise. Christine screamed, as hands--strips of rotting flesh dangling from blackened bones--shot from a pool to the side of the path, grasping and pulling at her limbs and clothes. Stephen’s conjured saber sliced through the slime-covered appendages like a knife through butter, but already the brackish water around them was erupting with skeletal figures. Glowing foxfire sat within sightless eye sockets, and water ran from bone and flesh and sodden cloth.

Making a split-second decision, Stephen called out even as he sent corpses flying with a flick of the whips for which he had exchanged his sword. “Wong! There are too many! Illyana and I will try to hold them off, but we have to keep moving!”

“Follow me. Now.” Wong’s gruff tone belied the gentleness with which he took Christine’s wrist. 

Their feet pounded against the sandy loam of the jungle passage, although Stephen could scarcely hear over the sound of his own ragged breathing. He and Illyana hurried in the others’ wake, throwing up protective shields and striking down the undead who surged after them. 

But for every skeleton that impaled itself on his sword or smashed to fragments of bone against Illyana’s shield, two more took its place. And Stephen noticed with dismay as the trail became increasingly littered with puddles. Their shoes quickly became soaked in water and the noxious mud of the encroaching swamp. The path became less and less obvious as it began to weave through moss-draped trees and clumps of reeds.

Then Wong came to an abrupt halt, his arm holding Christine back. Stephen nearly plowed into the other sorcerer, and besides him Illyana’s sneakers skidded in the thick mud. Behind them, a horde of skeletal undead came to a halt, in eerie imitation of the four humans. Stephen raised shield and sword in silent warning. The creatures kept their distance, although more continued to pour forwards, until the route behind them was entirely blocked.

Stephen spared a brief glance over his shoulder, attempting to discern what had made Wong stop so suddenly. As he did so, his heart sank. They had reached the banks of a great river, its waters tumbling along languidly. The reed-lined expanse of the river’s opposite shore was only distantly visible.

But swimming the deceptively calm waters would not be in the cards today. Like alligators lurking in wait for unsuspecting prey, bony skulls and flesh-bare limbs bobbed just beneath the river’s surface. Now and then, a skeletal hand or eyeless face would break into the air, then disappear again.

They had no way forward, and none back. There was only one option left to them.

“Wong.” Stephen resumed his watchful vigil of the restlessly shifting mass blocking their way back into the jungle, but he knew that the other master was listening. “We have to get across the river.”

“Obviously.” Wong’s voice was carefully controlled. They could have been discussing the weather, or what to have for dinner.

“Do you remember the grimoire from Farallah?” The undead horde in front of Stephen was growing agitated, shifting and muttering in a tone too low to make out any audible words.

Behind him, Wong was silent for a long moment. Then, “That is not a wise idea. That incantation calls for five *trained* sorcerers, sharing the cost equally between them.”

“Well,” Stephen kept his eyes focused forward, waving his sword menacingly at one creature that scuttled a step towards them. “I don’t see how we have much of a choice. Our friends are getting too antsy for me to head over for a visual and leave you here, so our sling rings are out. And I don’t fancy taking a dip, unless you want to spend just as much energy fighting as teleporting.”

“Teleporting?!” Christine’s question had a slightly hysterical edge to it. Although as he would have expected she was doing an admirable job of *not* panicking, all things considered.

“Yes. Wong, we need to hurry.” Illyana cast a glowing band of eldritch magic towards a hand that crept towards them from the water’s edge, for all the world like a slimy, blackened crab.

“Fine. And if they continue to follow?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Illyana, Christine. I need you to give both Wong and I one of your hands. We’ll need to use you as a conduit, but you don’t have to do anything per se.”

Stephen gave one last, threatening wave of his saber to hold the undead masses at bay, then held his hands at his sides, palms upturned. Illyana’s much smaller hand slipped into his without hesitation, and Christine’s joined hers a moment later. Stephen threw a wry smile towards his former colleague.

“Hold on tight.”

The teleportation spell was a tricky bit of magic, even with the required number of sorcerers. However, it did not require the ability to visualize one’s destination in great detail. It would have been nice to just ask for a ride to their final objective, but of course the Multiverse couldn’t make it that simple. With just him and Wong as a power source, they would be lucky if they didn’t materialize in the air halfway across the great river, let alone however far away the Atlantean outpost might be.

And wouldn’t that be a delightful ending to this quest. Stephen pushed such thoughts resolutely from his mind, and concentrated on the weaving and guiding of eldritch energy. Around them, orange and gold flames sprung up from the ground to lick hungrily at the air, a physical manifestation of the incantation. Through the flames, Stephen could see the undead horde--perhaps suddenly realizing the imminent loss of their prey--begin to surge forwards with an unearthly keening.

And then there was an almighty tug, and the feeling of being turned inside out and rightside in. The world shifted, righted itself, and finally settled.

Across the river, they could see the black mass of their pursuers writhing in frustrated ire. The trees around them trilled with the sound of birdsong, and the chattering of small mammals. The river itself hugged the bottom of a great basin between two mountains, where the sun did not reach. But ahead they could see the forest slope upwards again, green canopy glinting in the warm light.

Stephen shared a look with Wong, who looked as exhausted as Stephen felt. Letting out a relieved sigh, he smiled at the librarian, who paused a moment before inclining his head in a nod. Around Stephen’s shoulders, the Cloak tightened briefly in its facsimile of an embrace.

As Illyana and Christine began to trudge along the path ahead of them, towards the sunshine, Stephen was surprised to feel the other man’s hand at his elbow. He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“The text speaks of three challenges, passable only to the inhabitants of the city, and those worthy to seek them.”

“Well, I’m guessing that’s one down, then.” Stephen felt a sense of dread coil in his gut, but there was no other way. “Two more to go.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine reminds us that she played Irene Adler in another life, and is far from helpless. Although she definitely didn't learn about this sort of thing in medical school. Illyana puts some old lessons to use, and acquires a new one.

Christine had never felt as exhilarated or as terrified as she had this afternoon. Open-chest heart massage had nothing on teleporting (portalling?) to an ocean island, seeing her first dinosaur, or nearly being eaten by a horde of flesh-eating zombies. Well, she assumed they were flesh-eating. Maybe they had just wanted a cup of tea. Or to chase their little group off the proverbial lawn (swamp?).

But now, well, now she just felt tired. Exhausted really. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, but it seemed like days. Despite that, the sun here was only beginning its descent towards the horizon. 

She was just about to damn her pride and ask for a breather, when ahead of her Wong held up a hand. The ground beneath their feet had grown steadily more rocky as the trail increased in altitude. As she straggled over the crest of the small rise, Christine found that Wong had stopped them at the edge of a plateau. Some distance ahead, a haphazardly strewn pile of boulders was the only interruption in the barren vista. Scraggly shrubs clung to the infertile earth, casting long shadows in the light of the setting sun. 

Behind them, the valley from which they had ascended was likewise drenched in shadow, the river they had forded long lost among the dense foliage. A small corner of her mind recognized that it was a beautiful view, untouched by human hands. The rest of her could only sigh in relief, as she lowered herself to a conveniently sized rock to the side of the path.

Illyana, she noticed, remained standing, although the young woman looked as exhausted as Christine felt. Quite the dutiful acolyte, she mused. Or maybe soldier was the better term. 

Wong and Stephen were probably no less tired, but better experienced at hiding it. Still, Christine was a hard-taught student of human nature. Her job required nothing less. Wong’s steps had grown heavier and his stride shorter; knees, if she had to guess, the right more sore than the left. And Stephen was squinting against the fingers of light reaching over the horizon, crows feet at the corners of his eyes more pronounced than usual. Headache, and not a mild one either.

“Stop here?” Stephen’s inquiry was terse, but not angry. Wong nodded once, an economy of motion.

“Yes. We have a vantage point, and going on in the dark when we are all tired is a good way to make a fatal error.”

Stephen grimaced, his eyes sliding to Christine at Wong’s phrasing. “Alright. Do you want first watch, or should I?”

“First. I will wake you in four hours.” Without further ado, Wong sunk to sit cross-legged on a rock adjoining Christine’s own. It hardly looked like a typical watchman’s pose, but Christine had no doubts that Wong would be aware of anything that moved in their vicinity.

“Master Strange, I can watch as well.” Illyana’s chin was upturned with a slightly defiant air, in contrast to the weary slump of her shoulders. Soldiers indeed. 

Christine watched as her former colleague considered the apprentice’s request, then shook his head. “Ordinarily, I’d agree, but we don’t know what we’re facing here. Having even one person better rested could be to our advantage. And you can’t watch on your own. So you might as well get some sleep.”

She was surprised when Stephen rested a hand against Illyana’s shoulder, and offered her a small but consoling smile. “Stick with Christine, alright? That’s not a responsibility I would give to just anyone.”

The younger sorcerer’s spirit seemed bolstered by this, and she squared her shoulders. “I will, Master Strange.”

As Stephen passed, Christine elbowed him, muttering quietly so as to avoid Illyana overhearing. “Stick with Christine, huh? And what am I, chopped liver?”

“No, you know ten ways to kill me in my sleep with your bare hands, Doctor Palmer. But humor me, especially since this island might have twenty ways to kill all of us in our sleep.” Stephen’s eyes were warm, despite the shadows beneath them. 

With a theatrical flourish, he gestured to the earth, and three sleeping bags popped dramatically into existence. “So much more impressive than rabbits, right?”

“Keep trying, Houdini. I’ll take it, but next time I expect silk sheets, champagne, and a feather mattress. And before you make any *smart* remarks,” she held up a hand, forestalling his reply. “Remember that Wong is watching. Good night, Stephen!”

\--

Christine was familiar with the aftermath of trauma. The screaming and crying of the injured, or worse the total silence or soft, wordless moans of those more critically wounded or ill. But she did not have her paramedic colleagues’ familiarity with the sound and fury of unfolding trauma.

Afterwards, she found it difficult to describe the overload of sensations that greeted her on waking. In fact, she could not say with certainty what it was that woke her: the cacophony of noise, the smell of green wood and leaves burning, or the flashes of orange eldritch magic flaring against the night-darkened sky.

“Doctor Palmer, take cover!” Someone--she realized it was Illyana--was frantically tugging at the sleeve of her T-shirt. With an undignified scramble, Christine managed to disentangle herself from the sleeping bag and follow the apprentice behind the scant cover of the low rocks they had been sitting on earlier that evening.

Wong was no longer sitting in lotus-position upon the larger of the rocks. Both he and Stephen were stood defensively in front of them, although at some distance from each other. Wong’s hands upheld twin orange shields of magic, their intricate designs gyrating slowly. Stephen’s one hand raised a similar mandala, while his other was poised as if to hurl the orb of blue fire that swirled around his lightly closed fist.

But what drew her attention, of course, was the dragon. One did not see these every day after all. Perhaps Christine ought not to have been surprised after their earlier encounter with the tiny dinosaur. After all, if a long-extinct, feathered, egg-eating reptile could survive in this mystical paradise, why not a great, fire-breathing beast right out of myth?

And the myths definitely got the fire-breathing part right. Light reflected off of the massive creature’s scaley hide as a column of flame shot from the dragon’s mouth high into the heavens above. With a roar, the broad head whipped back towards the earth.

Stephen released the orb of blue balefire, grimacing in distaste as it shattered harmlessly against the creature’s scales. “Wong, we need a new plan.”

“I was not under the impression we had an original plan.” Wong grunted with effort as he raised the twin orange shields like a great umbrella, skillfully deflecting another barrage from the dragon’s fiery breath.

“Not helping!” Stephen’s mouth was set in a grim line, and Christine watched as it twisted in what was obviously distaste. “Do you think if I bind it for a minute, you can...neutralize it? I wish we could portal the damn thing to another dimension, but this place doesn’t obey the same rules as our dimension normally does.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t like your own plan?”

Stephen looked away. “Because I don’t know if we have the power left to do it, quite frankly. And because it’s a living creature, Wong. Not those mindless reanimated corpses we fought earlier. It doesn’t deserve to die just because someone planted it here, like some over-sized guard dog.”

Guard dog. Christine’s mind was rarely still, a fact that she found aided in her work but made it difficult for her to relate to so many of her colleagues. Perhaps that was why Stephen and she had always gotten along so well. There was something, some detail in her memories of the past few minutes of chaos that niggled at her mind.

Quickly, her eyes roved over the scene before her, observing and cataloguing. There!

“Stephen!” He spared her barely a glance, still focused on the obvious danger in front of him, but it was enough for her to know that she had his attention. “Fight, flight, and freeze are how most wild animals respond to a threat, right? But it can’t flee! Look at its right rear leg. That’s an anklet and chain. Maybe that’s why it hasn’t flown away. It can’t!”

Their romantic relationship might be long dead and buried, but the grin that spread across his face made her heart skip just a beat or two. Christine blamed it on the adrenaline.

“Alright, Wong. New, new plan. I’m going to hold it still for a moment, and you’re going to release that anklet.”

“And if it takes advantage of its newfound freedom to barbecue us?”

Stephen’s eyes glinted as he settled his stance more firmly against the rocky ground. “I have a feeling it won’t, but I’m going to do my best to nudge it along.”

With a put-upon sigh, Wong nodded his readiness. Stephen raised both of his hands, but instead of the eldritch restraints that Christine expected to appear, nothing seemed to change. Then she realized that the soft keening sounds she was hearing were coming from the dragon far above her. And that Stephen, his eyes closed, was making the same soft sounds under his breath.

“Idiot.” Wong shot the other sorcerer an exasperated look, but wasted no time in completing his task. With a few deft twists of his hands, the anklet shimmered and then simply vanished, the chain attached to it falling to the boulders below with a clatter.

“Stephen! It’s done.”

There was sweat beading under the taller man’s bangs, and his jaw was tightly clenched. But whatever he had done seemed to have worked. With a cry that somehow communicated triumph despite lacking human speech, the great beast flapped its leathery wings once, twice. Then it was gone, spiralling into the night sky above like a shooting star.

Wong reached out a hand, steadying his fellow master as Stephen dazedly blinked open his eyes. “That was an unnecessary risk to take.”

Christine had her suspicions, but it was Illyana who asked the question first. “Master, what did you do?”

“Ah.” Stephen looked hopefully over at Wong, but the other man gave him a look that said more clearly than words that this was not his explanation to give. “Well, I, umm, just sort of gave her a little nudge. And convinced her that we weren’t dinner. Or a threat.”

“Her?” Christine raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean by a nudge, Master Strange?”

Wong snorted. “He means that he did something very foolish and very dangerous. It is all too easy to get lost in the mind of such a creature, especially one we know so little about. It would behoove you, Illyana, to not follow your teacher’s example in this case.”

Christine nearly laughed at Illyana’s comically wide-eyed and open-mouthed dismay at seeing one of her mentors chastise the other so roundly. But Stephen merely huffed in exasperation.

“Well, I don’t think any of us are going back to sleep at this point.” With a wave of his hand, the gear they had been using disappeared. “Two down, one to go. Wong, lead the way.”

As she passed him, Christine laid a hand gently on Stephen’s forearm, the woven fabric soft against her skin. She felt him start slightly, and saw the Cloak stiffen minutely in warning. But she smiled at him, and felt the tension beneath her fingers drain away.

“For what it’s worth, you did the right thing.”

He smiled back at her. “I know. Thank you, for making that possible.”

“You mean I’m not entirely a useless third--well, fourth--wheel on this trip?”

“Far from it, Christine. Far from it.”

\--

Everyone was quiet as they trudged along. Illyana imagined that they were tired. She certainly was. She could not begin to guess how many miles they had covered since their arrival, and everyone’s sleep had been cut short (although Master Wong’s most of all). The older sorcerers were grim-faced. She suspected it might have something to do with Master Strange’s cryptic remark about “one to go.”

And the worst part was, they had yet to accomplish even the first part of their task. Namely, to find the Atlantean outpost, and uncover some way to defeat the oncoming threat to Earth. If they even managed to survive what this deceptively beautiful place hurled at them next, there was no guarantee that the outpost would be functional, or that it ever held the secret they sought in the first place.

Illyana was so embroiled in her worries that she nearly ran into Doctor Palmer when the other woman came to a sudden halt in front of her. Master Wong cast her a disparaging albeit brief look; awareness of one’s surroundings was a lesson even the most novice initiate was taught. Illyana hunched her shoulders and dipped her head, ashamed.

Then she looked up, eyes drawn by Christine’s awed gasp to the panorama that stretched before them.

“Oh my God.”

“Somehow, I don’t think the people who built this place knew of that particular deity, at least in that form. According to legend, Atlantis sunk beneath the sea well over ten millenia ago.” Stephen shot the others a wry grin. “And this is just an outpost, if our guide is to be believed. Impressive, isn’t it?”

And it was, Illyana thought, most definitely impressive. They had emerged at the other end of the plateau. Before them dense forest dropped away again, sloping down to the edges of a bay similar to the one at which they had entered their current path. Crystalline blue waters lapped at the pristine sands of a golden beach.

Within those waters, perhaps a couple of kilometers from shore, sat what Illyana could only assume was the outpost. Its gunmetal grey spires arced towards the heavens, the beautiful blue and green panes of glass set within them sparkling in the sunlight. 

But it was forbidden fruit. “I think we found where the dragon went.” Christine’s voice wavered between wonder and trepidation.

“Yes. And she seems to have some friends. But that’s the least of our worries. Watch.”

Stephen raised a hand. At first, lllyana thought he was simply gesturing towards the flock of winged creatures that drifted lazily in the warm updrafts above the ocean waves. They were truly a majestic sight to behold.

But then she realized that the sunlight was reflecting not only off the beasts’ scales. It also gleamed against the faint outline of a transparent dome that encapsulated the floating city, extending out some distance from its many piers. With a sinking feeling, Illyana realized that the dragons were not the outpost’s only form of protection, only the more obvious one.

Stephen let his hand fall back to his side, and the iridescent shimmer of the dome faded. But the magic that formed it was just as present (and just as deadly) for all that it was no longer visible. Illyana felt a cold spike of fear run through her. The Masters were always supposed to know what to do. But looking at Stephen’s face, and at Wong’s, she saw only uncertainty.

“Stephen?” Christine’s quiet inquiry broke the silence that had descended on the tiny group.

But he only shook his head, running a hand over his face as his shoulders slumped slightly. “I don’t know, Christine. There are too many of those creatures for me to control all of them at once. And the mystical signature I’m reading from the shield suggests that it can’t be breached, at least with the powers we have at our disposal.”

Illyana wanted to sit down on the edge of the plateau, pull her knees up to her chest, and cry. She had learned early in life that adults were far from infallible, and in fact could be relied on very little. Kamar-Taj and then the Sanctum had started to repair some of that trust. To see her mentors at even a temporary loss shook the foundations of her world.

But she had also realized long ago that sitting down and crying accomplished very little. Taking a deep breath, she tried to apply the lessons that Kamar-Taj had given her. First, find your center. With another breath, she released her disappointment, and more importantly her fear. Fear for herself and her companions, for those they sought to protect.

Second, be present and aware. With a street urchin’s eye for detail, Illyana took in the scene before her. She watched as the dragons spiralled gracefully among the city’s parapets. Watched as one dipped towards the blue waters below, emerging in a spray of seafoam with a wriggling fish grasped securely in its jaws.

Illyana stifled a gasp. The Atlanteans had been a maritime civilization, masters of both magic and technology. What if this was their last test?

“Master Strange! Master Wong! If we can’t go through the shield, what about beneath it? No one ever guards their basement well enough.” That was also a lesson she had learned in her younger years, although not one of which she was proud.

The two older sorcerers had been conferring quietly a few feet away, and they both turned to consider Illyana. A grin spread slowly across Stephen’s tired countenance.

“If you can’t go through it, go under it? How very James Dean of you, Illyana.” At her quizzical look, he shook his head despairingly. “Children these days. It’s a good idea. I may not be able to control the dragons, but I can create a ‘keep out’ signal until we’re out of the water. And a shield should be able to contain enough air to last us until we find an entrance, if there’s any to be found.”

Wong nodded. “It is a good plan. Well done.”

Then he was gone, moving quickly over the edge of the plateau onto the trail that wound down the hillside towards the bay. Christine flashed her a quick smile before following, and Illyana fell into step behind her. She could hear Stephen’s soft footfalls as he brought up the rear.

Perhaps adults did not always have the answers. Perhaps to be an adult was to admit that you didn’t always know what to do, and work together with those around you to accomplish your goals. And that, Illyana decided, made her feel pretty good after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mosasaurs are scary. Our intrepid team enters the city. Computers never cooperate. Stephen makes a desperate Hail Mary, but his plan doesn't work as intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SGA was my first fandom <3 <3 <3 Like Stephen, I was quite enthralled by the National Geographic(?) children's book on shipwrecks, as well as a textbook on sharks that I inherited as a kid.

Chapter 5

Nebraska was very far away from the ocean. As a child, Stephen had been rather fascinated with the concept of endless water, extending as far as the eye could see and for miles beneath the surface. He’d marvelled at picture books with photographs of wrecked ships, garlands of rust festooning their taffrails and catwalks. 

One summer, he’d scored a thick textbook on sharks from a booksale at the local library. His younger self had been alternately fascinated by and terrified of these denizens of the deep, which had predated the appearance of man upon the Earth by millions of years.

Descending beneath the clear aquamarine waters of the sunlit cove was surreally beautiful. Wong’s spell wove a delicate shield around all four members of their party, while Stephen concentrated on sending a “do not disturb” suggestion to the flying beasts far above them. 

Around them, the ocean teamed with life, that grew in variety as they ventured ever further from shore. Small, colorful fish flitted in synchronized clouds among equally rainbow-hued corals, while larger fish wove slowly through waving fronds of seaweed. A great turtle cast them a passing glance as it drifted by.

The sunlight grew dimmer as they sank deeper, still visible above as an undulating white glare on the water’s surface. The ocean floor dropped off below them, and Wong steadied his stance as he fought to keep their tiny bubble of safety on course.

Illyana’s gasp alerted him to the shark’s arrival, seconds before his magic--reaching out to the dragons above him--felt the brush of its simple, alien, yet highly focused consciousness. Stephen began broadcasting his “keep away” signal in all directions, not just towards the air above them. He stared for a moment in wonder as the great fish turned lazily out to sea.

And shuddered sympathetically with Christine’s stifled cry, as a hulking shadow burst from the darkness below them. The shark thrashed helpless between two jaws full of wickedly curved teeth, its blood staining the water around the two creatures dark. A great, bulbous eye flashed in the light from their shield. Then the broad-tailed, paddle-finned reptile plunged into the depths, bearing its victim with it.

Stephen shuddered involuntarily. “Uh, Wong, I hate to ask this, but are we there yet?”

Wong’s normally stoic expression remained unchanged. “Not much further. In fact...look, there.”

Out of the water ahead of them loomed another shadow, although this one remained stationary, growing slowly until it filled the ocean in front of them. Overhead, they could see the sunlight filtering around the many piers and platforms of the floating outpost above them.

Here, beneath the waves, the outpost was much more utilitarian in appearance. Dark grey girders ran in efficient lines towards the surface, while the base of the structure tapered like an iceberg to a single pylon far below. Here and there, red and green lights blinked fitfully in the murky water.

Stephen realized that the lights ahead were mirrored by a much closer source. “Wong, might want to check the device. I think it’s trying to phone home.”

The artifact, which hung in a small pouch at Wong’s belt, was steadily pulsing red through the bag’s fabric. Stephen grit his teeth as he juggled to balance the repulsion spell and the shield surrounding them, freeing Wong’s hands to retrieve the device. Once it rested in the sorcerer’s palms, they could see that it radiated light in a specific direction, the pulsed beam pointing slightly below and to their left.

Cautiously, Stephen steered their protective bubble along the same course. Through the underwater gloom, they began to make out a green glow which, out of all those shining into the darkness, matched the rhythm of the artifact’s radiance. 

Stephen brought the shielded orb to a halt just shy of the structure. Before them, now visible in the red and green light, stood a rectangular metal door, about two meters in height. There was no discernible handle, but a triangular indentation marked the door’s exact center.

“Well, there aren’t any obvious instructions, but I’m guessing this is an ‘insert tab A into slot B situation.’” Wong stared at Stephen for a long moment, but did not deign to respond. Instead he carefully extended the device through the shield.

It rested perfectly in the depression in the smooth grey metal. The red and green lights blinked rapidly three times in succession, and then there was a sensation rather than a sound of metal sliding against metal. The door was gone, and in its place wavered a blue field of magic (or energy; this didn’t feel the same to Stephen’s senses as their own magic).

“Time to look behind the curtain. Christine, Illyana...after you.”

\--

Stepping through the field of magic felt not dissimilar to biting into a mint, or getting mildly electrocuted by a wall outlet, or passing through an icy waterfall. Stephen shivered, and looked around, as his companions were already doing.

The corridor they found themselves in was functional and unadorned. Although the structure itself looked pristine, small puddles of water pooled on the floor, and there was a sense of great age and partial decay. Softly shining blue floor lights cast an eerie glow over the hallway, and all that was audible was a vague, far off mechanical hiss.

“It feels like no one has lived here for a thousand years.” Illyana’s whisper seemed somehow appropriate. Talking here was like speaking at someone’s wake.

Stephen cleared his throat. “Possibly longer. There’s no way to tell if there are any inhabitants, but my guess is our presence will have alerted them if there are. In the meanwhile, I suggest we move upwards. There should be a central control station, and hopefully we can access the information we need from there, or at least find where it is stored.”

It took them some time to find what they were looking for. Along the way, they passed through what seemed like miles of deserted hallways, although this outpost was far too small for that to be the case. The faint susurration of what Stephen suspected might be the ventilation system was the only sound. Occasionally, they passed an open doorway, which revealed a room full of benches, or what appeared to be a bunk for sleeping and other personal furniture, or once a conservatory full of green plants.

Stephen wondered if this might be what it was like to walk through Chernobyl, or Hiroshima, many years after the tragedies that happened there. It felt like walking through a tomb.

It felt like walking through the Avenger’s Compound in the aftermath of the final battle. Or the New York Sanctum, after Master Drumm’s murder at the hands of Kaecilius.

Fortunately, the ancient Atlanteans appeared to fond of symmetry. Once above the waterline, they followed one of the larger corridors that radiated like the spokes of a wheel from the outpost’s center. It was Christine who spotted the control station first.

“Uh, guys? Is that what we’re looking for?” She gestured towards the blue and green glass walls that surrounded banks of consoles and benches, barely visible at the end of the hallway in which they stood.

Stephen let his senses wander, watching as ghostly echoes of people dead millenia ago milled in the corners of his vision. “That would be what we’re looking for, indeed. Let’s go.”

\--

The air was obviously filtered. Yet it left a stale aftertaste in the back of Stephen’s mouth, and he could have sworn he caught the faintest scent of brackish seawater. The consoles and seats were miraculously free of dust, although Stephen suspected this was magical and not technological in nature. Although, for all he knew, an army of ancient roombas descended on the place every night.

Stephen watched as Illyana ran one pale hand along a console’s edge. “Now that we’re here, how do we find how the Atlanteans defeated Shuma Gorath?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Wong, any idea how to turn these devices on?” Stephen bent over a dormant screen, reaching out one faintly tremoring finger to gently touch it. 

It did nothing. Bending closer, he conjured a handful of balefire against the room’s dim lighting.

And the room sprung to life around them. With a low whir, the consoles began to blink, aquamarine glyphs similar to those that had adorned the artifact scrolling in rapid lines across their screens. In the middle of the room, above a chair positioned prominently on a central dais, the air itself began to flicker. 

Stabilizing, the flickering formed into the hologram of a man, white-bearded and dignified. But on closer inspection, the man’s eyes were bloodshot, and his hair tousled. His face was grim.

“Wong, stand down. There’s nothing there, just an image.” 

Reaching out a staying hand towards the librarian, who had conjured twin mandalas out of instinct, Stephen kept his eyes trained on the projection. The man’s mouth was moving silently. But then his words began to filter through, choppy at first and then more clearly.

“...there is no one left. All denizens of the city have been evacuated. I will remain to launch the city’s defenses. Hopefully this will be enough…” The image faded for a moment into static, before reappearing. “...know that this will drain my magic, and therefore my life force. But it will be a sacrifice worth making if…”

The hologram flickered again, just as the man reached out a hand for the glowing dome ensconced in the chair’s arm. Then it died. 

In the silence that followed, Illyana’s whispered ‘ Боже, защити нас’ echoed loudly. Stephen shared a meaningful glance with Wong over their youngest member’s head. Protect us, indeed.

\--

“How long until the search is completed?”

“The search will be complete in 15 hours, 47 minutes, and 9 seconds.” The lilting voice of the computer’s AI answered Wong’s query.

Stephen sighed. “Is there any way to speed up the process?”

The librarian shook his head. “It is possible that I am missing something, not being familiar with the system. But it seems remarkably intuitive. I am afraid we will have to wait, to see if the information we seek is contained within the database.”

Illyana flopped into a seat with a dramatic exhale of breath. Stephen could empathize. He lowered himself into an adjacent chair, wincing as one of his knees popped. Oh, to be young again. He rested one elbow against the nearby console.

And nearly jumped up into battle stance when the eerie wail of a klaxon began to crescendo through the room. “What in the Vishanti is that?!”

It was the computer’s voice, its continued calmness jarring against the surrounding cacophony, that answered him. “That is the intruder alarm. Hostile forces are approaching the planet.”

Helpfully, a projection sprang to life above the console. Stephen couldn’t decipher the elegant script flowing beneath the images. But a picture was worth a thousand words, or so they said. And the number of presumably enemy vessels bearing down upon the Earth’s surface was nothing to sneeze at.

Stephen heard Christine gasp, and spun towards her. Wong had taken a step in front of the other doctor, shields at the ready. Illyana, too, had conjured shields. Her face was a rictus of teeth-bared anger at the robed form that stood above them on the dais. Kulan Gath’s form flickered in and out, like an old-time movie reel.

“You were warned. Now you prepare yourselves for surrender. Or death, if you so choose.” The voice had a mechanical quality that masked Gath’s nasally tone, but Stephen assumed this was some sort of remote communication.

Then Gath was gone, as suddenly as he had appeared. Stephen felt his heart pounding, the blood thundering in his ears nearly loudly enough to mask the klaxon’s continued blare. He glanced to the chair above them. Then with purposeful strides he strode towards the dais.

“Stephen! No! You saw what that thing did to the man in the recording.” Christine’s sharp cry did not halt his steps. “Computer, what will happen if he sits in the chair?”

The computer answered as calmly as if reciting the weather forecast. “The chair powers many functions. As there are both technological and magical elements to this device, it requires a life force as a source of power.”

Stephen paused, poised above the high-backed seat. “Can it access the city defense systems? Like we saw in the recording earlier?”

“Yes. And the city information banks as well. Although if you intend to activate the defenses on a scale sufficient to combat the encroaching forces, it will likely drain your life force completely.”

“Stephen, please. Stop. You can’t do this. We’ll find another way.” Christine’s voice was choked, and even Wong looked troubled.

But they were entirely out of time. As he met Christine’s eyes, and then Wong’s, he smiled ruefully. Oh, the bitter irony.

“There is no other way.”

Inhaling, Stephen left himself drop into the chair, feeling the sleek coolness of its metallic surface surround him. For a moment, nothing happened, and he was left to wonder whether his plan would even work. Perhaps the chair would respond only to the Atlanteans, or perhaps it was too old to function still.

Then almost faster than the eye could follow, twin bands of metal shot out from the chair, strapping his wrists in place. Stephen grit his teeth at the twinges of discomfort that shot up his arms. Beneath him, he realized the chair had begun to emit a faint, almost mechanical whine. Soft, blue-white lights began to radiate along its surface. Inches from his right hand, a small raised dome set into the chair started to pulse with the same glow.

His gaze snapped up, as three pillars of identical blue-white light suddenly shimmered into existence before him. The beams were several feet in diameter, and spanned from the floor below to the vaulted ceiling high above. And each surrounded one of his companions.

Stephen felt his heart rate accelerate again. “Stop! What is this?”

The computer’s pleasant monotone rang out. “Please stand by. Depleted reserves. Your life force alone will provide insufficient power to city systems. Additional energy sources required.”

“No!” Stephen pulled against the restraints, but succeeded only in hissing as his wrists flared with agonizing pain. “Release them! You can have my life, but not theirs!”

It wasn’t fair. This couldn’t be happening, not again. His breath rasping harshly as his chest heaved, Stephen stared in anguish at each of the others. 

And they met his gaze in turn. Christine, nervous but resolute. Illyana defiant, hands clenched at her sides and chin jutting forwards, trying so hard to be brave. Wong, resigned but steadfast as always.

“Stephen.” It was Wong who spoke. “You know what you must do. Our lives are nothing, weighed against the Earth’s destruction or enslavement. Part of our responsibility as its protectors is making the most difficult decisions, those that affect not just ourselves but others.”

_ It’s not about you. _

“Stephen.” This time it was Christine, and her smile was bittersweet. “Look at me. You can’t blame yourself for this. And we swore an oath, remember? Sometimes, you can’t save everyone. It’s okay.”

Illyana spoke last, and while her youthful voice trembled, her conviction was plain to hear. “I’m prepared, Master Strange.”

_ Death is what gives life meaning. _

Illyana was hardly more than a child. Christine was one of his oldest friends. Wong was not only a dear friend, but one of his first mentors in the mystic arts. But if they could be strong, then so could he. And at least this time, he would not remain behind those he sacrificed. It was a small blessing.

For a moment, Stephen watched as the invaders inched closer. Then he reached out one trembling hand, letting it gently cover the pulsing light of the dome set in the chair’s arm.

The world went white. Pain--gnawing, throbbing, hot as the sun’s plasma--raced down every nerve ending in his body. And into his mind poured a virtual deluge of knowledge, pushing and shoving like flood waters through a failing levy. Galaxies spiralled overhead, the human body lay bare before him, electrons whirled around their nuclei.

Stephen felt his consciousness hanging on by the slightest of threads. With the last of his strength, he gave the command. He felt the city shudder to life beneath him, a dormant leviathan woken after ten thousand years.

Then he felt nothing at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen is pleasantly surprised. Our protagonists meet the man (sort of) behind the curtain, and Stephen has definitely seen that cat before. An important gift is given, and the real battle is set to begin.

Stephen hadn’t really expected to wake up. He wasn’t much convinced of the existence of an afterlife, at least in the conventional sense. And “draining your life force completely” seemed like a relatively terminal situation. So when he blinked open his eyes, he could honestly say that he was quite surprised.

The fuzzy blobs in front of him wavered into focus with a few more blinks. “Am I dead?” He cringed at how hoarse he sounded.

“Not quite.” He registered Christine’s hand resting gently against his radial pulse point, and the warm, solid weight at his back. 

“Are you dead?” Okay, so maybe his brain wasn’t quite firing on all cylinders yet. Christine chuckled softly.

“Not as far as I know.”

Stephen’s other hand--the one Christine wasn’t borrowing--was cradled in his lap, and he didn’t feel like using it to push himself off the ground. Not yet. So he kept leaning against Wong’s support, and tried to cajole his still muzzy thoughts into cooperating.

“So if we survived, then...did we fail? Did Kulan Gath reach Earth?!” Now Stephen did try to get up, pulling his hand away from Christine, and evoking a muttered deprecation from Wong as the other sorcerer also struggled to his feet.

Wong gestured towards the display, where the projection of their planet’s surface was still visible. “No. His forces have vanished, and the computer reports no threat to be present.”

“Thank the Vishanti.”

“You are most welcome.” Stephen felt his heart leap towards his throat. 

That was it. He was going back to surgery, mystic arts be damned. Fishing bullets out of people’s brains was far more relaxing than this. He looked around, scanning the room for the source of the echoing speech.

“Your decisions were sufficient to have averted this catastrophe, if it had occurred. You have passed our test.” This voice was softer. And it came from above them, on the dais.

For a moment, Stephen studied the newcomers. One was (in appearance at least, as much as that was worth) a young man. His head was bald, his features androgenous, and he was thin to the point of frailty. 

Next to him stood a stoutly built, much shorter woman. Her hair was her most remarkable feature, by virtue of its brilliantly verdant hue. Unlike the youth’s diaphanous robes, her dress and apron were well-worn and practical. She graced them with a matronly smile.

“Mrrrrow.” Stephen’s gaze was drawn downwards, and he quirked an eyebrow at the sight of the orange tabby cat that bunted its cheeks against the woman’s legs. Something about that cat seemed familiar.

“Hold on a second.” Christine’s words interrupted his musings. “Did you just imply that you’re these Vishanti? Stephen, I thought your cult viewed them as some sort of deity? And what do you mean by ‘passing your test?’”

At Stephen’s side, Wong nodded. “We do not view the Vishanti as deities, per se. But they are some of the oldest and most powerful beings our order has encountered. Direct contact with them is the stuff of legends. Respectfully, I would like an answer to Doctor Palmer’s last question, as well.”

Without ceremony, the youth sank cross-legged to sit on the dais, and began to stroke the ginger cat who promptly curled up in his lap. The woman, however, smiled at them again.

“Some of what you have spoken has been truth, and some carries truth at its heart.” She paused, looking into the distance as if recalling a fond memory. “Our first contact with your species occurred what to you would have been very long ago. But we have made contact far more recently, although only with a select few. The last of these was your previous Sorcerer Supreme.”

Raising a hand to gesture at the space around her, the green-haired woman continued. “This place held the tools you would need, but we also needed to know whether you were ready to take up her mantle. Such is always our way. The one who guides the Masters of the Mystic Arts must demonstrate power, compassion, and ingenuity. But they must also demonstrate both a willingness to sacrifice, not only themselves, but if necessary even others for the greater good of those they defend.”

She paused, and her gaze bore into Stephen. If he had wanted, he did not think he could have looked away.

“But you passed our tests, and so all is well. This world has a Sorcerer Supreme to defend it once more, and just in time. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Stephen Strange.”

Oh yeah, brain surgery definitely had nothing on this. Stephen wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think. He sort of felt like someone had just walked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder, and declared that he was now the President. He also had a feeling that this office didn’t last for a four year term. But there was still the matter of Kulan Gath to figure out. He could panic about everything else once the Earth was safe.

He took a deep breath. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well. If this was a test, does that mean that Kulan Gath was not real?”

The youth cradled the cat against his chest, and the woman’s countenance grew mournful. “Alas, he is very real. And you did not stop him. This simulation was entirely our doing. Kulan Gath, and his forces, are on their way. We believe that he does indeed have the power to draw Shuma Gorath forth again, and that must not happen.”

The woman gestured again, and a shimmering window flickered into existence in the air before them. “This doorway will lead you to Gath’s last staging point before Earth. You must stop him there, Sorcerer Supreme.”

For a moment, Stephen contemplated the windswept plains of red dust that stretched away on the other side of the portal. “One question: if I had failed your test, what would have happened then?”

Like a stormcloud passing across the sun, the woman’s face drew into a frown, but her moue was quickly chased away with yet another warm smile. “That has never happened, in all the history of our interactions with your species. Save once. We choose our candidates carefully. But if it had...our simulations are real in the moment they are conjured. We were deeply saddened on the day Atlantis fell.”

Stephen shuddered as a cold spike of dread at the “what ifs” of their quest shot through his chest. “But you did not fail, nor must you fail now. We bid you farewell, for the present. We may meet again, Stephen Strange. But we leave this world in your hands.”

The orange cat meowed, and the youth tilted his head inquiringly at the woman towering over him from his position on the floor. “Ah! I nearly forgot, thank you. A parting gift to aid you in your upcoming fight. May Oshtur’s blessing be upon you.”

\--

Wong had never in all his years as a master of the mystic arts imagined that he might come face to face with the Vishanti themselves, of all beings in this vast Multiverse. But then, he should have learned by now that the unexpected was the only thing one could truly expect, in their line of work.

In the same vein, he certainly would not have expected that the aggravating American novice who called him “Beyonce” and stole books from his library would end up becoming not only a close friend, but the Sorcerer Supreme of their order. Wong watched as the woman (Oshtur?) raised a hand in benediction. Stephen’s hand flew to his chest, and he bowed his head. The woman inclined her own head in acknowledgement. Then, between one breath and the next, all three beings before them had vanished.

“Okay, deities or not, I’m not really sure I’m okay with that.” Christine was doing a remarkable job of maintaining her cool, all things considered, but there was a slightly hysterical edge to her voice. “You know, Stephen, when I asked if you could let me tag along at your new job one day, this was not what I was expecting.”

“Sorry.” Stephen was wearing a sheepish grin as he turned to face her, hand still over the front of his robes. “I’d say this really wasn’t a typical day at the office, except we don’t really have typical days. Or an office, for that matter.”

Christine stared at him for a moment, lips pursed and arms akimbo. Then she laughed, and threw up both hands in a gesture of defeat.

“Well, at least you managed not to get stabbed this time.”

“Oh, he got stabbed just a few days ago.” Illyana supplied this information helpfully.

Christine eyed the apprentice incredulously, then crossed her arms and turned again to glower at Stephen. Stephen shifted nervously. “It was only a minor stabbing?”

Wong cleared his throat. Stephen shot him a grateful look. “We must make haste. We may have passed this test, but the greater threat still remains.”

“But what will you do? We came here to find a way to defeat this...this Gath person, but as far as I can tell we’re no closer to knowing how to accomplish that.”

Stephen smiled at his former colleague, and Wong watched as the taller sorcerer drew himself up to his full height. Nothing had physically changed, so far as Wong could see, but he nevertheless shivered as he felt the depth of Stephen’s power. Then the moment passed, and it was just his friend again, with his not-particularly-obedient relic and his greying hair and shaking hands.

Stephen tapped a finger to his temple. “Oh, but we are. I don’t know quite how to describe it, but essentially the city downloaded its knowledge banks into my brain when I sat in that chair. It hasn’t quite settled yet, but I know how they defeated Shuma Gorath. And how they used magic. And knowledge is power.” 

He grinned wryly. “Don’t worry, Wong, I see you drooling over there. If we survive this, I’ll sit down and let you pick my brain for your library.”

Wong snorted. It wouldn’t do to let the idiot get an over-inflated ego after all. “You know they say that the human brain is like a computer. Perhaps they selected yours because it had the largest amount of empty space available.”

“Ouch. No appreciation. Almost dying and having your brain hijacked just isn’t respected anymore.” Then Stephen’s gaze grew distant. “We have to go now, though. There isn’t much time.”

Wong nodded, even as he spun open a portal back to the Sanctum. “Illyana, take Doctor Palmer, and alert Kamar-Taj.”

Christine and Illyana’s outcries tumbled over one another. 

“Wait, you’re heading out there to take this on alone? Can’t you call for back-up?”

“No! Master Wong, I can fight, I can help!”

Wong took a deep breath, prepared to answer and to override Illyana’s protest. But Stephen held up a hand, and there was a ghost of the earlier gravitas about him that stayed Wong’s words. The other master’s eyes were sad, and very, very old.

“Christine. I promised I would keep you safe. And if you stay, I won’t be able to keep that promise. Please. We’ll find you when this is over.”

“If you’re able.” Her voice was equally somber, and her eyes were trained on his.

“Yes.” Stephen’s answer was brief, but not curt.

Christine paused for a moment, then impulsively flung her arms around her former colleague, who froze briefly before relaxing into her embrace. “You’d better be.”

She released him, and stepped back. Stephen cleared his throat, and turned to Illyana.

“Illyana, we need every bit of help we can get. There isn’t time to rally the other sorcerers.”

Illyana nodded fiercely. “I’m ready, Master Strange.”

Wong felt compelled to protest. “Stephen, she’s still an apprentice.”

“And I was barely more than one. I don’t ask this lightly, Wong. I hope you’ll forgive me, but this is what must be done. Illyana, do you understand what might happen?”

Illyana nodded her affirmation, fists clenched at her sides and chin high. “Good. Then let’s go.”

Fleetingly, they paused, the four of them looking at each other. Wong could not speak for the others, but his mind was filled with memories of the days they had just spend together, the perils they had conquered, and the uncertainty that lay ahead. Then Christine broke the tableau. As she had with Stephen, she smiled at Illyana and wrapped the younger woman in a warm embrace. Wong nearly jumped when he felt her arms go around him as well, and the soft brush of her lips against his cheek.

Christine leaned back, and sought his eyes with her own. “You take care of him, Wong.”

“Hey!” Stephen’s good-natured objection echoed against the ceiling far above. “I’m the one who just got dubbed Sorcerer Supreme. Why are you telling  _ him _ to take care of  _ me _ ?”

Christine’s laughter sparkled brightly in the cool air as she moved towards the portal that Wong had created. “That’s exactly why I’m telling him to. I imagine you’ll have even less self-preservation now than before.”

Stephen watched her disappear, arms crossed against his chest and face drawn into an endearingly grumpy frown. “That is definitely not true.” 

Then as the portal snapped closed behind Christine, he turned to face his remaining two companions. “Alright. Illyana, stay close to Wong or me if you can. Let’s go save the world.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an epic battle, the Big Bad makes an appearance, and Wong is surprised. Illyana is just along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life interfered, so my apologies if anyone is actually following this story. This is my favorite chapter: everyone is a BAMF, and then there is fluff. One more to go!

The first thing that Illyana noticed when she stepped through the portal was the red. Everything was red. The sand undulated in faded, rust-colored dunes as far as the eye could see, disappearing into the paler blush of the sky. Rose-hued cumulus clouds were painted high above, and the dried husks of lonesome bushes straggled up from the sandstone outcroppings dotting the landscape.

The second thing that she noticed was the wind. It was dry, sucking the moisture from her eyes, her mouth, even her skin. And it sighed with an eerie, barely audible wailing through the bushes and over the rocks. It sounded like people talking, just too far away to make out what they were saying. Illyana shivered, despite the alien heat.

And it was most certainly alien, in the sense that this was most definitely not Earth. It was impossible to say whether it was a world of their own dimension. Master Strange or Master Wong would likely be able to tell, but Illyana did not ask them. Particularly as Master Strange suddenly perked up, rather like a dog scenting its quarry.

“They’re coming.” Illyana had no idea what had clued the older sorcerer into that conclusion, and for a moment the landscape remained as quiet and desolate as it had before.

Then the air before them began to  _ swirl _ , like water draining out of a tub. Illyana realized that it was a portal, although it bore little resemblance to those that she had been trained to create. Her skin pimpled into goosebumps as the gruesome form of Kulan Gath took shape, stepping forth from the portal’s center. The portal continued to expand, blotting out the sun. 

At Gath’s heels followed uncountable ranks of humanoid creatures. Their movements were nearly robotic, although there was nothing mechanical about their composition. Instead, they looked to be made out of rock, with great glowing caverns where their eyes might be. The synchronized pounding of thousands of feet made the very sand beneath them shake.

Illyana wanted to wrap her arms around herself, to spin open a portal back to Kamar-Taj, to run away and hide in the dunes of sand. Maybe they would not find her. She was small, and the desert around them seemed infinite.

But they--Illyana herself, and her two mentors--were literally the only things that stood between Earth, and enslavement at the hands of a madman and his demonic master. So Illyana did none of those things, even as her heart felt like it might beat out of her chest and her blood thundered in her ears. Instead, she watched as Master Strange stepped forwards.

“Gath.”

“Sorcerer.” Kulan Gath’s voice was a sibilant hiss. “I hope, for your sake, that you are here to offer your unconditional surrender. Otherwise, your death will be but a brief prelude to our subjugation of your world.”

“Not quite.” Stephen’s face was impassive, but his eyes sparked with determination. “But then I think you know that. Turn back now. Earth is not yours to take, and we will defend her.”

“Fool.” Gath spat. “But it is no matter. Shuma Gorath is unlikely to tolerate your kind, so it matters little whether you perish here or on your world. Kill them, and quickly!”

\--

When she was a small child, barely within the reach of her oldest memories, Illyana had sat on someone’s knee before a roaring fireplace. As she watched the red and orange flames cavort like fairies at play, she listened to an old man’s voice tell her wild stories of intrigue and adventure. The stories about fierce and courageous battles had always been her favorites, her enthusiasm making her storyteller laugh merrily.

Battle, Illyana discovered, was not quite as she had imagined it. For one, it was very chaotic. Instead of the bird’s eye view she had envisioned as she listened to those childhood stories, it felt more like being immersed in the midst of a movie on fast forward. Images imprinted themselves on her brain, then disappeared in a whirl of color and sound: the thud of a giant’s fist landing against the sand, the thrum of her shield as she held it overhead, the roar from a cavernous mouth gaping in a rocky face.

“Illyana, duck!” She did so, feeling rather than seeing the scorching heat of a conjured spear that whizzed overhead, shattering the monster that had snuck up behind her upon impact.

“Thank you, Master!” 

Wong’s mouth was set in a grim line, as his hands twisted without stopping into a different set of sigils. The next wave of rock-giants (not a terribly original name, Illyana knew, but it was scarcely a priority) vanished as the ground cracked open beneath their feet. A little to their left, a flare of light signalled the neutralization of another batch.

They were certainly holding their own, but that wasn’t enough. The waves of combatants seemed endless, and they had yet to even reach Gath himself. Nor were their own reserves inexhaustible. Illyana felt herself beginning to tire, but she shoved that feeling aside as she tossed one rock-giant against another with a whip of eldritch magic. There was nothing to do but carry on.

“Enough!” Master Strange’s voice rang out, magnified somehow to be heard above the din of the melee.

And to Illyana’s surprise, and eternal gratitude, the chaos around them simply stopped. For a moment, the sun flared green. Above her, the rock-giant froze, arm raised to strike and maw extended in outcry. At her side, Master Wong stared in open mouthed astonishment at his colleague, who Illyana could now see standing some distance to their left atop a sandstone outcropping.

Kulan Gath’s shriek of outrage grated against her ears. “What is this? What have you done?”

Stephen’s robes and hair were in disarray, and there was a thin trail of blood that ran down the side of his face. But his stance was firm, and both hands were raised over the field. Around one wrist rotated a green circlet of glyphs with which Illyana was not familiar. A glow of the same green light shone from the amulet that rested against the front of the sorcerer’s robes.

“Let’s just say that your Lord of Chaos isn’t the only being with a vested interest in this conflict. The Vishanti don’t appreciate the Earth being threatened with enslavement any more than I do, and they made a gift of something we’d lost.”

“How in the Multiverse?” Illyana spared a glance for Master Wong’s muttered question. She had a feeling she was missing something.

Stephen continued. “I have taken your minions out of Time, but I can just as easily move them forward through it. So once again I will ask you to leave this place, and leave Earth alone!”

“Never! Earth will be ours, and I will bathe in the blood of its insolent, upstart primitives!”

“So be it.” The Cloak of Levitation billowed angrily as Stephen raised his hand, wrist twisting as if turning a dial. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.

Then the rock-giants around them began to simply erode, massive bodies drifting away on the still-singing wind as their forms reverted to grey sand. Stephen staggered for a moment as the green bracelet vanished, but only for a moment. At Illyana’s side, Wong took a step towards him, then stopped.

Kulan Gath seemed frozen in shock, but that also lasted only briefly. Then his wizened countenance drew into a snarl, and his bony hands rose to claw at the air. Power crackled at his fingertips like heat lightening.

“Impudent ape! That trick may work with these gollums, but I am immortal! You can never slay me. The Vishanti may have given you that bauble. But I will show you the power granted by Shuma Gorath, and you will beg for mercy!”

“You may be immortal. But I can,  in the famous words of one of Earth’s greatest defenders, do this all day.” Eldritch power thrummed through the air, making the Illyana’s skin prickle into goosebumps.

Kulan Gath greeted these words with an inarticulate cry of rage, and the battle between the two sorcerers commenced. Illyana had never seen a display of spellcasting on such a scale. The earth ran molten like a river of lava, then froze instantly into reddish brown crests that shattered into sand. Fire and blue-white lightening disappeared into a gaping, star-filled rift torn in the air. Gath’s Stone Age spirit warriors charged across the dunes, only to be met head on by a phalanx of translucent elementals, their dragon-like forms breaching like dolphins from the desert.

The two combatants seemed evenly matched. For a moment, they paused, chests heaving and hands still raised. Then Gath began to cackle, nearly hysterically, his laugh rising eerily on the still air.

“Impressive show, for a backwater whelp. The Vishanti chose their champion wisely. But you have forgotten one thing. Shuma Gorath also lends his followers his aid. And he is determined to bring your pathetic world back into his fold. Behold! Your bauble will be naught against the might of a true god!”

Behind Kulan Gath, the portal through which his rock giants had appeared still lingered. Its surface began to shudder, small ripples spreading across the greyish pool.

Then, like multiple fingers reaching over the pool’s edge, the tentacles emerged from the portal’s surface. Rubbery, grey-green, and massive in girth, they spilled forth, reaching, grasping. Illyana shuddered, a sense of primal horror filling her. With a squelching sound, the center of the portal parted, and she found herself staring at the great eye that peered forth from the demon’s center. The rust brown of dried blood or old nails, it glared down at the humans before it. 

And Shuma Gorath had every right to look down upon them. Even as a mere apprentice, Illyana could sense the immense arcane might of the entity that loomed over the field. Her heart sank. How could they possibly contend with a being of such magical power?

“It’s about time.” Illyana’s head whipped towards Stephen, startled by his quiet words.

For a moment, she thought she had misheard the older sorcerer. How could he not despair, knowing the unbeatable situation they faced? But Stephen’s next words, spoken loudly enough that Gath could hear them, only confused her further. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that.” Gath’s face twisted like he had bitten into a lemon. Apparently, that had not been the response he was anticipating either.

“Are you mad, sorcerer? This is Shuma Gorath, Lord of Chaos! For thousands of years, he bathed in the blood of your ancestors! You should kneel before him and beg for a merciful death.”

Stephen grinned wryly, hands raised slightly as the Cloak lifted him to face the great orb that swivelled to contemplate him, as a cat might contemplate a mouse. Then his face grew more serious.

“Death is not something to be feared. If it comes today, or in a hundred years, it matters only that we give meaning to the time we are granted. You may have forgotten that lesson, Gath, when you gave up your mortality. You view us as weak, mortal, finite. But that is what makes each human life so precious.”

Stephen let his hands fall to his sides, palms upraised as in supplication. “There are seven billion people living on Earth right now, give or take. Maybe not all of them are living meaningful lives. But they should be given the chance to.”

Then his eyes closed, and his head tipped back. From his hands flowered great bands of eldritch magic, ebony dark like the black of a night sky. But as the bands flowed forth, Illyana could also see that within them tumbled glowing aquamarine sigils. They swirled through the blackness like leaves in the wind, or seashells adrift on the tide. Nearly faster than the eye could follow, the ribbons of magic darted through the air, weaving back and forth across the portal. Shuma Gorath screamed in rage, although it was a sound heard not with the ears but in one’s bones.

Illyana felt her mouth open in wonder, as she stared at the scene before her. The demon-god’s tentacles writhed wildly, reaching forth from the portal. But they were thwarted from more than their impotent thrashing by the cage of ebony bands that crisscrossed the portal’s mouth. Beneath the imprisoned demon, Kulan Gath gaped upwards in obvious fury.

“What have you done?! No one can contain the great Shuma Gorath!”

“You know that’s not true, Gath. Ten thousand years ago, Atlantis fell. But not before they found a magic that would banish your god from our world. I’ve just put those bindings back in place, with a few modifications of my own to make them more secure.”

Illyana watched as the Cloak gently lowered its chosen back to the sandstone outcropping. Stephen’s voice was quiet but resolute. “It’s over, Gath. You can spend eternity fighting me. Or you can go and tell the Multiverse that Earth has a new Sorcerer Supreme to defend it. Your choice.”

Shuma Gorath roared again, but it was a pale echo of before. With a matching cry, Gath admitted defeat. Then both demon and minion vanished, gone as if they had never been.

\--

Wong was already moving, and Illyana hurried after him. She skidded to a stop, trainers slipping against the sand, as the librarian came to a halt at Stephen’s side.

“And good riddance.” Wong huffed his agreement. Illyana startled as the Cloak waved a corner in the air, but then hesitantly raised a hand to high five the red fabric.

“Good riddance indeed.”

Then Stephen staggered drunkenly to the side, only managing a slide rather than a crash to the dusty ground due to Wong and the Cloak’s combined efforts. Illyana took a step forward and then froze, uncertain what she should do. 

“Stephen!”

“‘M’fine.” The other master’s voice was slightly slurred, and he was half sitting and half leaning against Wong as the librarian knelt on the windswept rock. “Just umm, dizzy and a little nauseous.”

“Well, that is what happens when you channel that much magic.” Wong’s voice was chiding, but lacked any true bite. “Illyana. Portal to Kamar-Taj. Now.”

Illyana’s hands were raised before she consciously processed the older sorcerer’s instructions, her sling ring a familiar weight as she slid it on. In passing, she wondered if a portal could be formed from whatever this place was, but by then the circle of orange sparks was already opening. She glanced back over her shoulder. Wong was still kneeling. Stephen had his face buried against the other man’s shoulder, breathing shallowly.

“Stephen.”

“Uh-huh. Still here.” At least, that was what Illyana assumed he had said. It was a little hard to tell with his face still pressed against Wong’s shoulder.

Wong’s sigh was exasperated, but his tone was patient. He spoke clearly and slowly, as if talking to a small child. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah.” But he made no move to do so. Wong sighed again.

“Illyana. Come over here, please. If you can take his other side?”

Illyana shuffled closer. Fortunately, the post-battle adrenaline crash was creating a sort of dissociative euphoria that made it easier to follow Wong’s directions mindlessly. Not that she was afraid of either man. But it had been easy enough to fall into a habit of keeping people at arm’s length since leaving her past life.

Stephen was quite a bit taller than she was, so Illyana wasn’t quite certain how much help she would be. After some awkward shuffling that involved a fair amount of help from the Cloak, Stephen was back on his feet. At least after a fashion. Wong had one of the other man’s arms around his shoulders, carefully avoiding Stephen’s hand.

It all looked very promising, until they tried taking a step towards the portal. It might have had something to do with the fact that his eyes were resolutely closed, but Stephen took one step and veered into Illyana. Careening off her was probably the only thing that kept him upright until Wong tightened his hold and brought both of them to a stop. Stephen was panting, and pale as a proverbial ghost. He swallowed convulsively, and Illyana’s eyes widened.

“Uh, Master Strange?”

“What is it, Illyana?” It was Wong who answered her.

“Um, are his eyes bleeding? Is that normal?” Wong’s head turned quickly to survey the other sorcerer.

But Stephen seemed to have regained his equilibrium enough to speak for himself. “Ears too. Hence the vertigo. Not fun.” As if to accentuate his words, he swayed alarmingly, before Wong and the Cloak steadied him.

They were caught in an impasse. Stephen was obviously flagging, and Illyana was doubtful of even their combined ability to keep him upright for much longer. But he also didn’t seem capable of making it any further under his owner steam. She saw Wong weighing the same options. He seemed to come to a decision.

“Stephen, stay still. This really is becoming a habit.” Illyana had only a moment to wonder what he meant, although the other master seemed to know what was coming, if his resigned groan was anything to go by. Wong must have used at least some magic, as he made it look effortless when he scooped both Cloak and Sanctum Master up in his arms. Stephen’s head came to rest against Wong’s shoulder, and almost immediately he turned his face back against his friend’s robes.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Be more alright when everything stops spinning. Tired.”

“I know.” Wong’s steps towards the portal were made with measured haste.


End file.
